


A woman's charm has passed across my path

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Deception, F/M, Maimed Athos, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: Athos nearly died at the hands of his greedy brother and scheming wife. Left maimed and scarred and suffering physical and mental pain, he lives as a recluse with Constance as his housekeeper and manager, writing under a pen name. His only other relationships are with his few friends, and the people he talks to online.Especially one bright, kind woman he meets online, but can never bear to meet in person in case he revolts her.When d'Artagnan joins the estate staff at Le Fère, cracks begin to appear in Athos's apparently hard frozen existence, and before long, the glacier of his life is moving fast and forward, bringing changes that he must rise, somehow, to meet.





	A woman's charm has passed across my path

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired unashamedly by listening to Tom Burke's wonderful performance as [Cyrano de Bergerac for the BBC](http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b05zllz3), but ended up being rather different from what I started to write. 
> 
> TW: A woman is deceived about another character's appearance, but it's quite innocent. If you know 'Cyrano de Bergerac' you'll get the drift.
> 
> TW: Athos is seriously and permanently maimed and disabled.

“So, I think I like this guy for the job.” Constance laid the photo and resumé on Athos’s desk. “He’s experienced, enthusiastic, and charming.”

“And also, rather handsome,” Athos said, making his housekeeper blush. “Whatever you like, my dear. You know I don’t care as long as whoever it is, is discreet.”

“I care because I’ll have to sort out the mess if they do a poor job. I’ll offer him three months’ probation and have him sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

“As you wish.”

“Are you in pain again?”

“A little. Nothing to be done for it.” The pain would never go away, and the scars would always pull.

“Would a massage help?”

“No, I’m fine. Go do what you have to do. I have things to write.”

She stood and picked up the documents. “Is your publisher still after a photo?”

Athos was careful not to let his irritation at his publisher leak into his tone. “I told them no. That’s the end of it.”

“Good. I’ll bring you some tea later.”

“Thank you.”

She closed the door behind her and Athos relaxed. He adored Constance, and she was as close to him as Aramis and Porthos, but sometimes, even her company put him on edge. Reflexively he smoothed down the long hair he’d grown to cover the bare, burnt right side of his scalp. He looked repulsive, he was well aware, and did his best to cover his ugliness so not to revolt anyone, even his oldest friends.

What he hadn’t told Constance was that his publishers were not prepared to drop the idea of an author photo to go on the back of his next book. It was part of their rebranding, and thus crucial to the new editions of his previous books as well as his new one. They’d offered to have an artist draw a portrait if he didn’t want an actual photo, but that idea had thrown him into a full-blown panic attack. Fortunately, he’d been alone in his bedroom at the time, so Constance hadn’t realised.

He didn’t need the money from his writing, so he could tell them to stuff it, but he had gained useful distraction from his woes, and a small amount of pride in creating a new career for himself. Perhaps he should ask his lawyer what it would cost to break his current contract and go to another publisher with a less aggressive stance on authorial presentation.

With a grunt of frustration and pain, he wheeled himself to the window and looked out onto the garden. Everything was laid out as his mother had left it, but it had gone to rack and ruin after a series of contracted gardeners had shown little interest in doing much but cutting the grass and hacking limbs off trees. Constance had convinced him they needed a fit person on the staff to keep it beautiful, as well as to assist with the heavier work around the place. Athos hadn’t needed much persuasion, so long as anyone she hired left him alone. She had two women who came in and ‘did’ when required, and cooked when Aramis, Porthos and Treville came to stay. He’d never met them and had absolutely no intention of doing so. The fewer people who saw his disfigured person, the better, so far as he was concerned.

But he was glad the new gardener was handsome, for Constance’s sake. He could never get over the guilt of allowing one of his friends to work as his manager cum housekeeper. Constance was brilliant. She could work anywhere, with anyone. Keeping her to himself was selfish.

The idea of letting anyone else do what she did for him, was too terrifying to allow.

He only hoped this Charles d'Artagnan showed a bit more imagination as a gardener than the others they’d hired. Athos was sick of seeing his mother’s legacy being destroyed through neglect.

*********************

D’Artagnan signed the last of the forms Constance had put before him. “When do I meet the boss then?”

“I’m your boss, Charles. I give you instructions, and you report only to me.”

“Uh, sorry. I meant the owner of this place.”

“You won’t,” she said, collecting the papers. “He doesn’t interact with the staff except for me.”

“Okay.” Weird, but then the rich were another species. “When do you want me to start?”

“When can you start? As you can see, we have a lot to do.”

“I brought my gear in the car. I’m, uh, between places just now.”

She smiled. “That’s fine. I’ll show you your quarters, you can sling your bag there, and then take a walk around. Start tomorrow, if you want.”

“Great! Can I make one little request?”

“Of course.”

“Call me d’Artagnan? ‘Charles’ is what my mum calls me, but everyone else uses my last name. It’s just a thing with me.”

“That’s fine too. Come and let me show you your new home.”

The little cabin wasn’t a hundred metres from the main house, and was everything he needed. A little old-fashioned, sure, but clean and neat, with a cute little kitchen and comfy looking bed. “You can cook if you want,” Constance said, “but we don’t expect you to. Just come to the house and eat with me in the kitchen, or take a plate back. If you want groceries or anything like that, just let me know and we can add it to our regular shop.”

“Cool. What about the internet?”

“I’ll give you the password. No porn, okay? And nothing illegal, obviously.”

“Yeah, sure. I just want to be able to Skype with my mum, send emails, look up stuff, you know.”

“That’s perfectly normal.” She smiled again, and it made her face even lovelier. He was already in love with her dimples. “TV here, all the usual cable channels, and you can come up to the house anytime to use the big set up there, if you want.”

“The boss...I mean, the owner, doesn’t use it?”

“No. It was installed by his parents. His friends use it sometimes when they visit. You’ll like them, I hope.”

“Not as shy as their mate?”

“No.” She went a little cold at that. He made a note not to criticise her boss, even in the mildest way.

“Has he...do you...have anything in particular you want me to start on tomorrow? And do I have authority to hire equipment or subcontractors for anything I can’t handle?”

“Yes, and yes. Monsieur wants the plan his mother made for the garden restored to its former glory, but he is also open to suggestions on how to improve it. He especially asked for whomever I hired to have a good imagination and use it.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “I can do that.”

“Excellent. When you want supper, or anything else, you can either come to the back door of the house which is the one closest to the kitchen and my office, or text me.” She gave him her number, and he gave her his. “There’s only you and me in residence so I hope we’ll be friends. But the one thing above all else I must insist on is that you respect Monsieur’s privacy, and at no time discuss him or this house with anyone else, even your family.”

“You mean I have to keep this job a secret?” He was dismayed at having to lie to his mum about this.

“No, no. You can tell them where you work, but please don’t gossip. Monsieur has been through an awful lot over the years, and hates the press and people talking about him behind his back. He just wants peace and solitude. He’s a good man, d’Artagnan. Please don’t hurt him.”

“I promise you, on my mother’s life, I will never ever do that.”

“Thank you,” she said, touching his hand. “I’ll see you later, all right?”

When she left, he threw himself on the bed to try it out. Nice. A couple of the places where he’d worked, the mattresses had felt like they’d belonged to someone’s great-grandmother before he’d got to sleep on them, but this one felt new. As he looked around, he saw other touches which indicated that while the cabin was old, someone had given some thought to making it comfortable for a new employee. Plenty of lights, new electrical outlets, a recent TV and DVD player, and the carpet also looked new.

He already liked Constance a little more than he should, and seeing how she approached her employees, made him like her all the more. Did that mean this mysterious ‘Monsieur’ was also a nice man? She liked him a lot, he could tell, so that was one point in his favour. But why all the secrecy?

He could google it, he supposed, but best he threw himself into the job instead. Having a chance to make a real difference to a lovely estate like this, was a grand opportunity, and one he had no intention of wasting.

*********************

Constance brought Athos’s breakfast tray in just as he’d struggled into his dressing gown. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she said as she opened the curtains.

He looked at the windows. “Yes, so it seems.”

“Have you seen what d’Artagnan’s done with the garden so far?”

“Yes. I approve.”

She beamed. “Oh good. He’s been so worried he would mess it up. I told him it was all good, but he’ll be pleased to have your approval.”

“Why would he care? He’s never met me.”

She sat down to join him in a cup of coffee while he ate. “That’s the problem. I think I might have contributed to building you up into this weird Howard Hughes type character, and he’s scared to death of you.”

Athos snorted. “I _am_ a weird Howard Hughes type character.”

“Haven’t seen you pee into a jar yet.”

“Give it time. Everything ready for the boys?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to seeing them again.”

“So am I.”

Constance would probably never believe it, but Athos was not solitary by nature. Introverted, yes, and he had always preferred the company of just a couple of dear friends to that of a gathering of friendly strangers, but he was not, by nature, the recluse his injuries and mental illness now forced him to be. He missed his former comrades and commander, his closest friends outside of Constance, like a missing limb. These four precious souls were the only people he trusted not to mock him, not to abandon him, not to betray him. Once there had been two more. Not any longer.

“Do you want to meet d’Artagnan?” She sipped her coffee and pretended to be quite uninterested in his response, but he’d known Constance a very long time, and more than that, he’d made it his business to know his friend little tells and quirks. She was _dying_ for him to admit this man into his confidence.

But Athos didn’t know him, and didn’t know how to trust anyone new anymore. “Why don’t you introduce him to the lads? If our paths cross, then so be it. But—” His breath caught. “If he...if—”

She reached over and touched his ruined right hand. “I would _never_ ask you to meet someone I didn’t feel I could trust to respect your privacy. He’s a good man.”

“I trust you. It’s just my stupid head.”

She curled her fingers over the scarred remains of his own. “Your head is not stupid, darling. Let him meet the boys, and he can meet you another time, if they give him the all clear. And only if you want to.”

His chest relaxed. “Thank you. I wish I wasn’t like this.”

“With all you’ve been through, I think you do very well.” She patted his hand. “More coffee?”

Agreeing to meet this new gardener would have been the decent thing to do, he well knew. Excluding him from socialising with Athos’s friends for the two weeks they were staying, cut him out quite starkly, and frankly, quite insultingly. Without knowing a thing about the man, Athos felt horrible for hurting him, and he wanted to make it clear that it was not intended as a slur on the man’s character. When Constance came up with his lunch, he handed her a note he had prepared.

“Would you give this to d’Artagnan? I feel he’s owed an explanation. I don’t want him to be insulted by my excluding him from his company.”

She took it and didn’t even peek. “That’s very kind of you, Athos.”

“I can’t think what else to do. Please do tell him, if you haven’t already, that I’m very impressed by what he’s done.”

“I’ll do that. If he asks...why....”

Athos sighed. “Tell him. Better from you than the internet. I don’t need someone else who thinks I hoard my own body waste.”

She laughed, then came around to his side of the desk, and dropped a kiss on his head, while gently rubbing his shoulders. “You know you’re lovely, don’t you?”

“Rubbish.”

“Hush. I know everything.”

He grinned. “So you do.”

“Have you had another email from your Sylvie?”

The change in subject made his chest warm. “Yes, this morning. I don’t know how she finds the time. It must be so frustrating with all that’s needed in Haiti, knowing you could work yourself to death and still make almost no difference.”

“Almost none is not the same as none. I’m sure the charity appreciated your donation.”

“The least I could do.”

“Many don’t do even that. Perhaps you could write your next book with a Haitian setting—make people more aware.”

He nodded. “I’ve actually discussed it with her, you know. A movie would be even better, but you never know. My other books have been optioned, so if I wrote one about Haiti, and it was picked up, that would help quite a bit.”

“Oh, that would be great!”

“But the movie people always want the author to be part of the publicity,” Athos reminded himself, his chest going tight again. “I couldn’t....”

She bent and kissed his head again. “Now don’t go getting worked up about something that may never happen. I’ll go and give this to d’Artagnan now. I’m sure he’ll be grateful. You concentrate on writing. Publicity can go to hell.”

“I don’t think my publishers would agree.”

“They can go to hell too.”

Athos smiled as she waltzed out, note in hand. He quite agreed with her about the publishers. At least, some of the time.

*********************

D’Artagnan read the short, achingly polite note, and recognised the struggle of a man who desperately wanted to face only the people he knew, while being hospitable to someone living in his own home. He looked up at Constance’s anxious face. “It’s fine. Please tell him, I understand. I wasn’t expecting to be friends with his friends.”

“Yes, but you’re allowed to use the facilities, and visit me, and eat with us and all that, and he didn’t want you to think he was excluding you because of some stupid class thing. He’s just intensely private, for good reason.”

“I get it, don’t worry. I’m not offended. It’s really nice of him to care though.”

“It is. And he told me specially to let you know how pleased he is by what you’ve done in the garden. He’s very pleased. We’ve had so many people make a botch of it, I think he didn’t want to let himself hope you would be better. This house and the garden, the estate, is his whole world now.”

D’Artagnan tucked the note into his shirt pocket. “Was he always like this?”

She pursed her lips. “No, he really wasn’t. Four years ago, there was...an accident. He was badly injured, burned, disfigured. It’s left him a mess physically and mentally.”

“Poor sod. There’s more to it though, isn’t there?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Have you been looking it up?”

“Not a thing. But the way you hesitated, and all the secrecy...I mean, if it was just an accident....”

“Yes.” Her mouth drew down and a frown line appeared between her eyebrows. “It was his wife and brother. They were having an affair. His parents died just six months before, leaving the house to both sons, but the brother wanted it all, and his wife. She convinced him to kill Monsieur, so the brother ran him off the road, down a cliff. Monsieur nearly died. A motorist who saw the crash happened had a fire extinguisher, and managed to put out the fire that started before it killed him.”

“Jesus,” d’Artagnan whispered. “Did they catch the bastards?”

“The brother killed himself rather than let the police arrest him, and the wife went to prison for twenty years. It broke Monsieur. Not just his heart, his mind too. And his life and his career in the army. We nearly lost him.”

All that betrayal, and all that damage. “Shit, I can imagine. Actually, no I can’t. How can people be so evil?”

“When you find out, you can let us both know. So that’s the whole story. There was so much press attention at the time, and the trial went on and on, then an appeal which was just as appalling. Atho...Monsieur had a complete breakdown, and this while he was still recovering from these awful injuries.”

“He’s lucky to have such good friends. That must have made a difference.”

“I hope so,” she said, smiling slightly. “It was him starting to write, getting published, that helped him the most. But he’s avoided all the publicity the publishers want him to be part of, no matter how hard they push. He can’t bear the press being all over him again.”

“Don’t blame him. You tell him I understand, and I’m not offended. I really mean it.”

“Thank you, d’Artagnan. I’ll try to make sure you’re not completely ignored.”

“Come to the movies with me some time? Or dinner?”

She put her hand on her breast. “Me?”

“No, Armand the cat.”

She giggled. “Good luck trying to catch him to take him to a movie house.”

“Constance.”

“Sorry. I’ll come if I can. Otherwise, afterwards? I could do with getting out, even if it’s with you.” She stuck her tongue out a little to show she was joking.

“Ha ha. What about Monsieur? Is he okay in the evenings?”

“Oh yes. He’s always at me to have fun in my time off, but mostly this is where I want to be. It’s not a job I need to get away from. He’s my best friend.”

“Well, I’ll aim for second best friend, shall I?”

“You can certainly try. I better get back. Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re welcome.”

*********************

Athos met his friends on their arrival in the main living room. Aramis of course threw his arms around him as soon as he walked in, as did Porthos. Treville offered his hand, and didn’t wince when Athos took it with his damaged right. He had no secrets from these men, and no pride when it came to them.

“You’re looking well, Athos,” Treville said, sitting in his usual armchair. Aramis and Porthos took their own seats, with only Constance staying on her feet.

“I _am_ well. As can be expected,” he added, making Aramis grin. “Constance, love, come and sit.”

“I just want to know if you want to eat in here or the dining room so I can tell Maude.”

“In here?” Athos asked. The others nodded. “Then come back quickly. You know this lot only visit to see you.”

“Quite true,” Aramis said, raising an eyebrow at Athos. Constance rolled her eyes and ducked out. “So, what’s new?”

“Nothing. Your turn. How’s your love life?”

Porthos groaned. “Athos, we’ll be here all night.”

“Then you tell us about yours,” Treville said. “How is the lovely Elodie?”

Porthos’s expression went soft, and Athos sat back to enjoy listening to someone else talk about their happy relationships, which saved him from thinking about his own miserable history. Constance rejoined them shortly afterwards, and was as eager as Athos to know that Porthos was getting on well with his tiny blonde captain, whom neither of them had ever met. She clearly had their big friend wrapped around her dainty finger, and unless Athos was very much mistaken, there would be a wedding soon.

“What about you, Jean?” Constance asked. “Seeing anyone?”

“Not really.”

“Now that was a carefully worded answer,” Aramis said, on the scent of a budding romance as fast as a bloodhound. “Come on, boss. Give.”

“Not on your life,” Treville said. “I’ll tell you when I want to, and no sooner.”

“Constance has a new man in her life,” Athos teased. Their three visitors turned as one man to stare at her.

“Oh you,” she scolded. “He’s talking about the new _gardener_. You know, an _employee_.”

“A young, handsome, kind, talented fellow, or so she tells me,” Athos said, priming the pump.

“Does this paragon have a name?” Aramis asked.

“Charles,” Constance said, her chin pointed defiantly. “Charles d’Artagnan.”

“That’s a Gascon name,” Treville said.

“I have no idea,” she said. “He’s from the south somewhere. He looks Italian.”

“Oh, _Italian_ ,” Aramis repeated, waggling his eyebrows and looking significantly at the others.

“She’s slapped you before, my friend, and she has permission to do so again whenever she wants,” Athos warned.

“You started it,” Porthos said. “What’s he like? And can we meet him?”

“Nice, and of course,” Constance said, sounding cross. “He’d probably welcome meeting some decent people.”

“Leaves you out,” Porthos staged whispered at Aramis. Treville grinned behind his hand.

“Charming,” Aramis said, pretending to be offended. “And what about you, Athos? How’s the delightful Sylvie?”

He looked as innocent as he knew how. “Why does everyone ask me about her? Lots of people email me. I’m a very popular author, didn’t you know.”

“And yet among all the dozens—”

“Hundreds,” Constance murmured.

“Hundreds,” Aramis corrected himself, “of people who email you, we only know the name of one, who happens to be the delightful Sylvie. So how is she?”

“She’s fine. Still working in Haiti.”

“Athos is planning a book,” Constance revealed.

“Constance, I’m only considering it.”

“Planning, considering, what’s the difference?” she asked, wide-eyed with fake innocence. As if she hadn’t helped him with the first three books, and acted as his editor. His writing was her idea, after they’d rummaged through his parents’ old documents and found his father’s notes on his work in the French Resistance,

“Shame she’s all the way across the world,” Porthos said.

“Better that way,” Athos muttered. “Constance, perhaps we could open some wine.”

She glanced at him to let him know she knew he was changing the subject, but went to the wine cabinet as he asked. Treville rose to fetch the glasses, and helped her pour.

They settled into a well-worn, comfortable routine, and Athos stayed quiet, content to listen and smile, and occasionally laugh. He didn’t want to talk about Sylvie because he was afraid to spoil what was becoming one of his important relationships—albeit purely online. It would have to remain that way, but nonetheless, his friendship with this sharply intelligent, fiercely progressive young woman was a stimulus his life desperately needed. Anne had once given him that too, but she had turned out to be false coin, fool’s gold.

Sylvie wanted nothing from him except to talk about his books, her work, the politics of the world, and anything else that entered their fancy. She’d never asked for anything, not even something as trivial as an autograph. Their friendship had gone well past author and eager fan, and was now one of the main reasons Athos forced himself out of bed in the morning, rather than wallow in sleep or alcohol which he had done for too long, and still did more often than was good for him.

He had no idea what she looked like, just as she had no idea how hideous he was. He wasn’t going to do a thing to change that state of affairs. Their exchanges were purely intellectual, a meeting of minds and interests. He would never cope if that changed.

But there was one topic he decided to raise after dinner, because he needed their advice. “So, I wondered. Any of you feel like playing Olivier de Fer?”

“What?” Porthos asked.

“Athos, explain,” Treville said.

Aramis worked it out. “Your publishers?”

“Unfortunately. They’re being annoyingly persistent. Ninon has looked at my contract and said that I’m not obliged to agree to a photo, _but_ there’s nothing to stop them doing nothing to publicise my books if I don’t cooperate. I can go to another publisher if they push too hard, but my agent doesn’t think that’s a good idea. Seriously, I’m thinking of tossing the whole writing thing.”

“No, Athos, don’t do that.” Constance’s words were sharper than he expected, laden with worry. He turned to her. “You’re good at it, and it’s good for you. Don’t give up so easily.”

“She’s right,” Treville said. “Besides, you were asking if one of us wanted to play you. Would that work?”

“I can’t see why not. It’s a fake name, so why not a fake photo?”

Aramis scratched his beard. “And your publishers would allow it?”

“I think so. They’ve been sort of hinting about it. Any of you want to do it?”

“I think you’re forgetting we’re all still serving in the military,” Treville said. “Publicity and photos aren’t exactly encouraged.”

“He’s right, unfortunately,” Aramis said.

“Bugger.” Athos shrugged. “Oh well. It was just an idea.”

“You could hire an actor,” Porthos suggested. “Must be hundreds, thousands of them who’d do it for pay.”

“Perhaps.” Athos would never do that. He needed to be able to trust the person completely, and the people he trusted were all in this room. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll toss it back at my publisher. It’s their problem, not mine.”

 “I’m sure they’ll make an accommodation with you rather than lose one of their better selling authors,” Treville said.

“It’s so weird when I go into a shop and they’ve got books on sale. Nearly always have one or two or yours,” Porthos said. “I have to bite my tongue to stop me telling the shop assistant that my mate wrote them.”

“Why not tell them?” Constance said. “It’s not a state secret.”

“Yeah, but it’d be stupid, innit.”

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s adorable,” he said. “Why shouldn’t we be proud of our brilliant, talented friend?”

“No, I will not lend you money,” Athos said, deadpan. Constance giggled behind her hands. Aramis shook his head at the pair of them.

He slept better than of late, but woke sore and stiff as usual, because there was little that could be done about his wrecked body, not three years after the ‘accident’.

“Good morning,” Constance said as she breezed in while he was still contemplating whether he could in fact get out of bed at all. “Planning to join us today?” She put his breakfast down, opened the curtains and came over to the bed. “Need a hand?”

“Give me a minute. I’m fine.”

“Okay. But I’m right here if you do. I won’t look.” She poured her coffee, sat down with her back to him, and stared out the window. “I had a thought about the author portrait thing.”

“Oh?” Athos managed to swing his legs out of the bed. Always the hardest part. He grabbed his dressing down and pulled it around him, then used the bedpost to help him stand. “Back in a mo.”

He used the loo, washed his hands and returned. She hadn’t moved. He pulled up the wheelchair and used it to propel himself to the breakfast table. “What’s the idea?”

“D’Artagnan. We could ask him. He’d be perfect. He’s not a stranger, already works for you, already knows why you don’t want to be photographed, and he’s photogenic.”

“I can’t. It would be grossly abusing our relationship.” He needed more coffee for a conversation using words that long at this time of the morning.

“Only if you make him do it. Why not ask?”

“And what does he get out of it, my dear?”

“You could pay him. Are you decent?”

“As I ever get.”

She turned around, and frowned. “You’re in a lot of pain.”

“No worse than most days.”

“Athos.”

“What am I to do about it? I can’t live on painkillers, and booze makes you cry.” She pursed her lips at him. “I’ll have a shower, loosen up, and I’ll be fine. There’s nothing else to be done. I’m broken. We know this.”

“I wish I could....”

“Go back in time and stop me marrying her?”

“I was thinking of shooting your brother, actually.”

He set his coffee down with a rattle, and tried not to shake, which of course was useless. Constance gave a little cry and came over to him, wrapping her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, darling. I just hate them so much for what they did.”

“It’s all right,” he mumbled, concentrating on trying to regulate his breathing and slow his heart rate. He patted her arms. “It’s fine. Go and finish your coffee.”

She obeyed, though still looked guilty. “You’d think I’d know better by now.”

“You can’t walk on eggshells around me, dear. Now, back to d’Artagnan, I can’t ask him.”

“But I can. He wants to take me to the movies—”

“Good for him. Why not take a whole day out with him?”

She flushed. “Maybe,” she said, her eyes cast down. “I could talk to him then.”

“And if he wants to say no? He might agree to avoid upsetting you. No, Constance, we can’t ask him. It’s not fair.”

“Well, what about one of the boys? He won’t want to date any of them.”

“I don’t know. Aramis—”

“Oh, blow Aramis.” Athos raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean, damn you. If one of them ask him, or at least talk to him about it, then he can answer truthfully.”

“But he still might be afraid of upsetting you. Or worse, me. I can’t ask an employee to do something this important, and private.”

“Athos, he might be delighted.”

He sighed. “You’re determined to do this.”

“Not if it’ll make you angry.”

“It won’t. But I don’t think it’s worth losing a good gardener over.”

“Trust me?” She reached for his hand.

“Always, darling. You know that.”

“Then leave it with me.”

“Can you at least wait until the lads go home? One excitement at a time.”

She gave him her lovely smile. “Absolutely.”

“So what have our vagabonds planned for today?”

“Nothing. They’re all knackered, Porthos said.”

“So I should prepare to do no writing today.”

“Oh, like that will be such a hardship for you.” They shared a grin. “But you better check your emails before you come downstairs. You won’t have much of a chance afterwards.”

“Don’t be arch, Constance. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Me?” Her giggle spoiled the effect. “I better go and make sure they haven’t terrified Maude.”

“See you in about an hour.” He couldn’t hurry mornings. He just didn’t have the ability any more.

When she left, he poured his coffee, and pulled over his iPad. Sylvie was still online. He had time for a quick chat.

*********************

“Athos? Are you all right?”

Athos looked at the time. _Bugger_. He’d been at this for two hours. “I’m fine, Aramis. Give me, um, twenty minutes.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, I’m all right.”

“Okay. See you in the garden.”

Athos dictated a quick message to Sylvie. “Time’s run away with me, sorry. I have visitors.”

“And I have to get some sleep. Talk later, Olivier.”

Damn, now he was all stiff from sitting in the one place for two hours. Aramis’s help would have been welcome. Oh well. Served him right for keeping Sylvie up so late. He wheeled himself over to the bathroom and slowly eased himself up and into the shower.

It was nearly an hour by the time he rolled into the private walled garden at the back of the mansion where his friends were sitting around like proper layabouts. “It’s about time,” Porthos said. “Anyone would think you didn’t have to work for a living.”

Athos gave him the finger. “I was chatting to some friends online.”

“Some?” Constance’s eyebrow was raised sceptically.

“For three _hours_?” Aramis asked.

Treville glowered at them all. “Gentlemen, let Athos have his privacy.”

“Thanks, boss,” Athos said.

“No fair,” Porthos said. “I tell you everything about Elodie, but I can’t ask you about Sylvie?”

“Who said I was talking to Sylvie?”

“That,” Constance said, leaning over and stroking his left cheek—the one that was still perfect. “You’ve gone red as a cherry.”

“Exertion.”

Aramis hooted. “Athos and Sylvie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S—”

“Aramis.” None of them would think of disobeying Treville when he used that tone. “Why don’t you lot go for a walk?”

“Athos just got here, boss,” Porthos complained.

“Yes, and you’ve already worn him out. Bugger off, there’s a good chap.”

Aramis hauled Porthos up by his collar. “Come, my friend, my sweet Constance. I want to meet this gardener of yours. I’m sure _he_ doesn’t mind a bit of honest teasing.”

When they were alone, Athos said, “I don’t really mind, Jean.”

“I do. It’s a bit close to the knuckle for me. I’ve sat up with you too many nights to have one of those idiots stirring up bad memories.”

“They’re not. Not yet, anyway. Sylvie is just someone I chat to.”

Treville hmpfed. “Given how isolated you are, that makes her important to your well-being. What have you told her about you?”

“Nothing much. She doesn’t even know my real name, let alone that I look like the Phantom of the Opera.”

Treville winced. “You’re not that bad, honestly.”

“Honestly? I am. I’m not ashamed of it, but I’m not deluding myself that any healthy young woman would find me less than repulsive. Sylvie’s ten years younger than me, well educated, bright, personable. I’m simply grateful to have her to chat to while I do. Nothing more.”

“If you say so. Constance said she had an idea about this photo they want from you.”

“Yes, she said. I could just have a profile photo shot, but I absolutely resent the whole imposition. My writing stands without anyone needing to know what I look like. I don’t want that circus again, Jean. I can’t go through it again.”

“No, you can’t. Keep saying no. They need you more than you need them.”

The tension in Athos’s body that had risen when Treville mentioned Constance’s plan, eased again. “Quite. So how are things going at work?”

*********************

“You’re right, he does look Italian,” Aramis said. D’Artagnan turned and glared at the man.

“Aramis, you are a such a prick,” Constance said, her cheeks pink. “Hi, d’Artagnan. I brought the oafs to visit. I didn’t expect them to misbehave.”

“Oy, I haven’t done anything,” Porthos said. He held out his hand. “Porthos du Vallon. The one with manners. That’s Aramis. He was born in a barn, and not because his mum’s called Mary.”

D’Artagnan grinned and shook the big man’s hand. “D’Artagnan. Nice to meet you.”

“D’Artagnan’s a funny name.”

D’Artagnan turned to his good-looking tormentor. “So’s ‘Aramis’. Constance, these are the mates you were looking forward to so much?”

“I _was_ ,” she said, giving Aramis a dirty look. “Now I wonder why. Are you working?”

“Sort of.” He waved the secateurs towards the trees. “Tidying up. Not doing a serious prune. Why, are you going to make me a better offer?”

“Want to go for a walk?”

“Can we leave _Monsieur Manquant de Manières_ behind?”

She smiled brightly. “Of course.”

“Constance, you wound me,” Aramis said, putting his hand over his heart, before extending it to d’Artagnan, who took it. “Let me begin again, kind sir. Aramis d’Herblay, at your service. I am quite harmless.”

“Unless you stick a rifle in his hands,” Porthos muttered. “Best shot in the unit.”

“No guns around here,” D’Artagnan pointed out. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “A walk would be nice. A cold drink would be nicer.”

“Oh, is it beer o’clock already?” Aramis said brightly. “Porthos?”

“Always beer time for me.”

“I’ll fetch the car,” Constance said. “Just wait here. I need to tell Athos where we’re going. In fact, how about lunch as well as a beer?”

“Suits me,” d’Artagnan said. “Let me wash my face and change my shirt.”

He ran back to his cabin. Over the wall he heard two male voices speaking in the walled garden. One of them had to be the mystery owner, and the other, one of his friends. Why had the group split up?

Constance was back with the car by the time he returned. “We’re good for at least four hours, so let’s enjoy it while we can.”

“Don’t you lads want to be with your mate?”

“Nah. The boss told us to fuck off, so we thought we’d come and annoy you,” Porthos said, grinning so hugely, d’Artagnan couldn’t take offence.

“Can’t take them anywhere,” Constance said, shaking her head. “Come on, get in.”

After a month, d’Artagnan already had the best local pubs and cafés around Pinon clocked, and Constance’s choice was one of the ones he approved of. The garden was already busy on this bright summer day, and he couldn’t find it in his heart to wish he had been left to get on with his chores. They could wait until tomorrow.

“Ath...Monsieur told me specifically that this was all on him,” Constance said after they’d made their drinks orders. Aramis lifted an eyebrow. Obviously he didn’t know that _d’Artagnan_ didn’t know what ‘Monsieur’s’ real name was. Or any name.

“Very kind of him,” Porthos said, staring at her. She glared back and he backed down—all without a word being said. Scary.

Aramis turned to d’Artagnan. “So, what drags you to deepest Hauts-de-France?”

“Work. And La Fère is a gem of a place for someone like me.”

“We’re lucky to have him,” Constance said. “He’s done wonders with the garden already. Didn’t you notice?”

“I did, actually.” Aramis regarded him thoughtfully. “Where did you study?”

“At Angers.”

“Ah. And where did you work before this?”

D’Artagnan realised after a bit that he was being re-interviewed for the job he had already won. He glanced at Constance, but she didn’t seem inclined to stop her friends. So he tamped down his irritation and did his best to answer honestly and politely, while beers were sunk at a steady rate.

Only when Aramis asked him if he had a girlfriend, did d’Artagnan put his hand up. “Really? Are you proposing to date me or sack me?”

Constance put her tongue out. “You are so sprung, Aramis. Enough. He’s not a secret spy for the press.”

“What?” D’Artagnan looked at her and then Aramis. “Is that what you thought?”

“We just wanted to know who our dear, fragile friend had invited into his home, that’s all,” Aramis said, without a trace of apology.

“Because I’m notorious for bringing traitors into his inner sanctum, of course,” Constance said, no amusement in her tone.

Porthos poked Aramis in the side. “Yeah, knock it off now, mate. If he’s good enough to fool our girl, he’d get past you in a second.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” d’Artagnan said, holding onto his temper by a thread. “I just want to work on the garden. Constance told me about Monsieur’s accident—”

Porthos growled. “‘ _Accident_ ’, my arse.”

“Yeah. That. I would never hurt someone who’d been through all that. What the hell do you take me for?”

Constance patted his hand. “A lovely man with more patience than I’d have for this nonsense. Enough, I said. Are you all ready for lunch?”

After an interrogation like that, d’Artagnan felt it was only fair to ask a few questions about these two new arrivals himself, and learned they were both long-term soldiers, that the other man was their superior, and that Monsieur—‘Athos’ (it slipped out, much to Porthos’s embarrassment)—was their former comrade, a major and highly decorated. “Such a shame he had to leave the military,” Porthos. “Shocking waste of a good soldier.”

“Shocking waste of a good man,” Constance said quietly.

“How disfigured is he?”

Aramis narrowed his eyes. “How do you know he’s disfigured at all?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “Stands to reason. He’s in hiding, too shy to meet people, even his employees. I thought he must be scarred or something.”

“He is,” Constance said. “There was a fire in the crash, and his right side from about here,” she indicated a point under her ribs, “to the side of his head, had third degree burns. So the right half of his face is very badly scarred. He was such a handsome man too.”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Must be painful.”

“Very. He had to wear a compression garment for two years, which helped, but it’s still bad. I think he minds the damage to his hand the most though.”

“You said he’s a writer?”

“He uses voice recognition software. He can peck with his right hand, enough to correct typos and that kind of thing.”

“I’ve used that myself, just to try it out,” d’Artagnan said. “Thanks for telling me. If I meet him, it’ll help me not to be too shocked or surprised. I don’t suppose that’d go down well.”

“It would kill him,” Aramis said. “So don’t.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” D’Artagnan forced himself to calm down and smile at Constance. “You mentioned lunch?”

“Yes, let’s.” He was sure he wasn’t imagining the affection in her eyes.

The food was good, and his companions finally left off all but accusing him of being a secret agent, but this was not the kind of date he’d wanted to take Constance on. When they returned to the estate, Constance sent the men back to their friends, but lingered behind to talk to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Aramis has never done that before.”

“I hope not. He was skirting close to a punch in the nose.”

“I know,” she said. She sat on the broken end of a wall, and he joined her. “Thank you though. He was worried. Monsieur isn’t. Any delay in meeting you is only his...shyness.”

“I totally get it, Constance. I’m not pushing at all. I’d like to meet him, when he’s ready.” She nodded. “I hope lunch doesn’t mean I can’t steal you away for dinner and a movie soon.”

“Oh no! I’m looking forward to it. Ath...Monsieur—”

D’Artagnan held up his hand. “I know he’s called Athos. I won’t tell anyone.”

She sighed. “Thank you. Anyway, Athos was keen for me to go out with you. He worries about me being on my own here, even though I love it.”

“A little change is good for people.”

“Yes. That’s why I wish he could bring himself to leave the house. Or at least, if he had more friends. He only talks to people on line now. I mean, apart from us.”

“Is it just the injuries?”

“No. He suffers from PTSD, and there are so many little things that trigger him. The outside world is a cruel and dangerous place now. This place is his prison and his refuge.”

“Poor sod.”

“He would be furious to hear you say that. He hates pity.”

“Don’t blame him. Was there something else?”

“Else?”

“Before you go back to the house.”

“No, not really. I wish lunch had been more pleasant, that’s all. It could have been.”

“There’s always another lunch. Maybe just you and me next time.”

Her dimples appeared at last. “Yes. Let’s do it that.”

*********************

Once Constance finished her report and moan about the way their friends had treated d’Artagnan over lunch, Athos sighed in frustration at his overprotective pals. “I hope you lot haven’t scared the man away.”

Porthos chuckled. “No chance of that, mate. He’s a tough little bastard. Took all Aramis’s questions without a whimper. He’s got a smart mouth on him too.”

“It was ridiculous of him,” Constance said, while Treville glowered at the reprobates. “But D’Artagnan took it all with much better grace than _they_ would have.” Aramis looked a _little_ ashamed of himself. But not much.

“That was not what I had in mind when I sent you all away,” Treville said.

“Nor when I insisted on paying for lunch. Constance, I hope you apologised to d'Artagnan for me.”

“Of course. And we’re going out _alone_ next time, so you boys will have to play with yourselves. Not that doing that will be a novelty.”

“Oy.” Athos grinned at Porthos’s indignation.

“Anyway, I hope you and Jean had a nice time together,” Constance said to Athos.

“Very,” Treville said. “And an excellent lunch. Please compliment your chef.”

“Maude is a treasure. Athos, I was thinking of asking if we could employ her on a permanent basis, have her live in.”

“Whatever you like, my dear. You know that. The last thing I want is you working yourself to the bone for my sake.”

“Thank you.”

“Athos is the world’s best employer,” Aramis said.

“And you’d be the world’s worst,” she snapped back. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you.”

“My sweet lady, I only had your best interests in mind.”

Constance blinked. “Mine?”

“Of course. I wasn’t worried about Athos, but you. Our young André Le Nôtre is indeed gorgeous and charming. He’s also very obviously smitten with a certain dear woman of our acquaintance. I wanted to be sure you weren’t being wooed by a cad.”

It was a lovely speech, but unconvincing. Constance rolled her eyes and looked at Athos. “Did you ever hear such drivel?”

“He does have a point, my dear.”

“Athos, I am twenty-eight years old, and divorced! I can make my own decisions without this one,” she stabbed a finger in the air towards a cringing Aramis, “acting like a jealous father. Or any damn shovel talks, in case either of you had the inclination. The nerve of you.”

“My apologies, fair Constance.”

“Oh, you be quiet,” she growled at him.

Despite her annoyance, Athos found Aramis’s concern touching, and the whole matter a little amusing. He wanted nothing more than for Constance—all his friends, in fact—to be happy. His only worry was that this d’Artagnan might take Constance away, but he couldn’t be selfish if it came to that, however much it might hurt.

“Athos? Are you all right?”

Aramis’s hand was on his shoulder, his face in Athos’s. “Just...just a thought. I’m fine.”

Aramis squeezed his shoulder and murmured, “I’m sorry, brother.” Athos reached up and patted his hand to say he was forgiven.

Aramis found him later when he retreated to his office before dinner. Sylvie wasn’t around—hardly surprising since he’d kept her up so late—but he had other emails to answer. And yet another politely insistent request for a publicity photo, damn them.

“Do you mind?” Aramis said as he came in.

“No, take a seat. I think I need a secretary. I can’t push all this correspondence onto Constance.”

“Why doesn’t your agent handle it?”

“Most of it goes to her. This is what she deems fit for me to deal with.” He looked up. “What’s on your mind?”

“What happened earlier? When you went all funny? A flashback?”

“No. Anxiety. Thinking about a time after Constance, because she can’t stay with me forever. She’ll meet someone, marry again, have children. Normal stuff.”

Aramis stroked his moustache. “Talking about her going on a date with your gardener set you off.”

“Unfortunately. Not that I want to discourage her in the least. She deserves happiness and a good life. Especially after Bonacieux.” They both made faces as they remembered her ex-husband, a mean, stupid man who talked with his fists. “I dislike change now.”

“Hardly surprising. But you will always have her as a friend, as you will always have us.”

“Forgive me if I distrust the very notion of ‘always’ after...you know.”

Aramis frowned. “What’s to be done then? How can you allow Constance her freedom and still have the security you crave?”

“I don’t ‘allow’ her to do anything. She’s a free person, and I would never discourage her from doing anything she wanted. As for the second part, I have no idea.”

“Perhaps you need a companion of your own.”

Athos grimaced and looked at his laptop screen. “Not this again, Aramis. I’ve had enough teasing today.”

“I’m not teasing, my friend. I’m merely suggesting a careful and gentle widening of your circle of friends. This new gardener, perhaps the lovely Maude, and others. Perhaps some of the people you correspond with, naming no names.”

“Please don’t. I could just hire a companion, you realise. Plenty of people want to work for rich old crocks.”

“Or talented not old men who are loyal and brave and capable of long and lasting affection.”

Athos looked steadily at his persistent friend. “So long as they don’t expect more. I’d be a pretty poor bargain for a woman looking for a romance. I don’t even know if the equipment works any more.”

“Surely your doctor can help you find out.”

“What’s the point? Who would want to kiss this?” He pointed to the scarred right side of his face.

“You act as if no burns victim in the whole of history had ever married or been loved.”

“I speak as if I never want to be betrayed again by someone who claims to love me, actually.”

“Athos.”

“Aramis.” Athos met his friend’s reproachful gaze with a blank one of his own. “Was there something else?”

“No, no. Just worried about you. D’Artagnan is a good steady man, at least I can reassure you on that point.”

“Thank you, but I do trust Constance. She’s even more fiercely protective than you.”

“I’ll just go away then.”

“You do that,” Athos said, grinning a little. He returned to his emails once Aramis had slunk away. It was times like this that having an intimate friend who wasn’t of the circle of his current intimate friends would be so nice. He never talked about personal matters with Sylvie, or anyone else online. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t safe.

Perhaps he would hire a companion. It would take the burden off Constance, having to listen to him moan and fret, without having to worry whether the other person actually liked him or not.

*********************

“That was fun,” Constance said as they left the cinema. “Thank you for taking me.”

“My pleasure. A good movie, a good meal, a pretty lady at my side—what more can I ask for?” d’Artagnan said.

“Not much. Can I buy you coffee?”

“I’d like that.” He was in no hurry for the evening to end. Constance was such good company, and she looked lovelier than ever. Having the chance to talk and look at her for a little longer was fine by him.

“Now this is better than lunch with those interfering sods,” she said as they sat down in the café.

“Much. And I get to talk to you about you. When you’re not talking about Athos, that is.”

She looked down in embarrassment. “Sorry. He _is_ a big part of my life, as well as my employer.”

“Okay, so I can talk about you all the time because you’re my boss. Suits me.”

She made a face. “I’d rather talk about you.”

“You know all about me after two interviews.”

“Two...oh. Yes. But I mean, things like whether you ever plan to return to Lupiac, and if you miss your family horribly.”

“No, and yes. Sometimes, at least. I miss my mum. But I go where the work is, and there’s more work in the north, at least for me. I’m in no hurry to leave.”

“Oh good.” She blushed. “I’m in no hurry either, I mean. For you to go.”

“I knew what you meant. Don’t you ever get bored, living and working in the same place all the time?”

“No. I keep busy, and Paris is not far. Athos is a sweetie, and wonderful company. I only want people around me as nice as he is.”

“So you think I’m nice?”

She looked at him from under her eyelashes. “Sometimes.” He grinned back at her.

The coffee arrived and they took their time over it. “D’Artagnan, there is one thing I want to ask you that’s to do with Athos. Not work, though.”

“Tell me.”

“I told you about his scars, remember?” He nodded. “His damn publishers are harassing him to provide an author photo, and... well, you can imagine why he hates the idea.”

“God, yes. Can’t he tell them to fuck off?”

“He tried that, but they’re not giving up. He has a new book coming out soon and they want it for the publicity.”

“Then he should hire someone who can play him. Easy.”

She nodded. “Trouble is, he finds it very hard to trust people, and this would be entrusting someone with a very important secret. So I thought perhaps I could ask someone who’s already known to be trustworthy.”

“You mean me?”

“Yes. It’s just a photo, d’Artagnan, and he’d pay handsomely for the use of your image.”

“Sure, why not?”

She sat back. “Just like that?”

“Of course. It’s just a photo. No one else has any use for my face.”

“I don’t know about that...I mean...thank you. But you realise that you couldn’t ever tell anyone about it.”

He frowned in confusion. “But people who know me will know it’s me.”

“Yes. Um. But if we sort of made you up, did your hair different, you could just say it’s just someone who looks like you. We’d need to make you look a little older.”

“Then why not ask one of his mates? They’re all older than me.”

“They're all serving military personnel. Not a good idea for security reasons.”

“Okay. But I’m fine with all that, Constance. I’d like to help. I’d like to meet him though. Not as a quid pro quo, just...I’d like to meet him.”

“Of course. The boys leave next week, and I’ll set it up then, if not sooner. And I’ll tell him you’re happy to be his stand-in.”

“Will I have to do book-signings?”

“I doubt it. How would you feel?”

“Would I have to talk about the books? Cos that could be awkward.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know. Let’s start with the photo, okay?”

“Okay.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Thank you. It’s been a worry for him and so it’s a worry for me. Just don’t go sharing your pretty face with anyone else, okay?”

“Pretty?”

“Handsome. Pretty handsome.” She dimpled at him, and he had to grin.

He parked in the garage which was much too big even for the three cars it currently stored. He walked her to the back of the big house. “Thank you for this evening,” he said. “I haven’t had such a nice time in ages.”

“You must have a dull life, d’Artagnan.”

“Yeah, that must be it.”

She smiled, then leant in to kiss his cheek. “I had a lovely time.”

“Do it again soon?”

“Yes, please.”

He grinned all the way back to his little cabin. He was already half way in love with this gorgeous woman, and she wanted to see him again. What more could he want from life?

*********************

Two days later, while he was eating lunch in the kitchen, Constance returned from giving her boss his tray. “Athos would like to meet you this afternoon, if you’re free. The boys are going to Paris for the evening. He was thinking afternoon tea, in the garden. Is that all right?”

“That’s fine. Four good for him?”

“That’s fine.” She fetched another cup and poured herself some coffee. “The ratbags aren’t annoying you, I hope.”

“No more than usual.” She frowned. “No, Constance, they’re not. Calm down.”

“Oh. Okay. Um, Colonel Treville might be there this afternoon too.”

“Another interview?”

“No, no. Curiosity, more than anything, I think. He doesn’t want to go to Paris with the others. He says they’re too much like hard work.”

D’Artagnan chuckled. “I can imagine.”

“Just come to the kitchen at four, and I’ll bring him down.”

“Fine by me.”

If this Colonel Treville was curious, he couldn’t possibly be as curious as d’Artagnan was to meet his mystery employer. So he put on a clean t-shirt, made sure his hands and face were clean, and went to the kitchen just before four. Constance was there. “Oh good, you’re on time. I won’t be long. I’ll come fetch you.”

He couldn’t hear her climbing stairs and this was a three-storey home. There had to be an elevator installed, unless this guy wanted to be trapped on the floor he lived on. Constance was back in less than two minutes. “Jean, that’s the colonel, has taken him outside. Would you mind giving me a hand with the trays?”

He picked up the one with the crockery, while she handled the food. The afternoon was warm, but not unpleasantly so. A grey-haired man with a very straight posture rose as they came out, but the other, in a wheelchair, had his back to them. Constance set her tray down and indicated where d’Artagnan should put his. “D’Artagnan, this is Colonel Jean Treville.”

The man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Honoured to meet you, _monsieur_.”

“And for me, also. D’Artagnan, this is Athos.”

D’Artagnan came around the front of the wheelchair, and held out his right hand. “ _Monsieur_ , a pleasure to finally meet you. You have a lovely garden.”

Athos let d’Artagnan gently clasp a deformed and useless hand. “More lovely since you arrived, young man. Please, do sit.”

With Constance’s forewarning, d’Artagnan wasn’t as shocked as he might be. The scarring was bad, no doubt about it. The right side of the man’s head above and including the ear, was nothing but blotched red, raised skin, as was the side of his face in a diagonal from the temple down to the corner of his mouth, as if he’d been splashed with burning fuel. His right ear was mostly missing.

Athos wore his hair long, and had used it to partly cover the naked, scarred area of his scalp. From what Constance had told him, d’Artagnan guessed extended well past the jaw and neck, and down below the silk scarf and nice shirt Athos wore.

Constance was pouring tea for them all, but Athos ignored her. “Aramis tells me you studied at Angers. How did you find the courses?”

“I liked them a lot. I did well too. But there’s nothing like getting your fingers on a real live garden that needs the love. More love, I should say. Everywhere I can see that this one has already received much affection.”

Treville snorted, and Athos smiled, the left side of his mouth rising more than the other. “It was my mother’s pride and joy after she retired. My parents and I spent some very happy times right here, when the weather was lovely, as it is today.”

“I’d be jealous, _monsieur_ , if I didn’t know how hard she must have worked to deserve it.”

“Quite. Don’t mind Jean staring, by the way. The others have built you up into this mythical creature and I confess neither of us knew quite what to expect.”

“Just a humble gardener, _monsieur_.”

“Not too humble,” Constance teased. “Rightly proud of his work.”

“And why not,” Treville said. “I’m from the south like you, d’Artagnan. I knew you were a Gascon as soon as I heard your name.”

“We get around, _monsieur_.”

“Still, a long way from home and family. Very different climate too.”

“Yes, so I find.”

Athos drifted out of the conversation quite early on. Perhaps the welcome was as much interaction as he could handle. Treville was nice. Tough, but kind, and he and Constance clearly adored each other as much as they both adored Athos.

After two cups of tea, d’Artagnan wondered if any of them were going to mention the photo idea. Maybe they’d decided against it, which was no skin off his nose. But at last Treville set his cup down. “So Constance raised this plan for you to be Athos’s stand-in. I believe you’re happy with it.”

“Why not? My only chance to be famous, even it’s second hand.”

“Hardly _famous_ ,” Athos murmured, the first sound he’d uttered in half an hour.

“You won’t have to do any more than this, you understand,” Treville said.

“Unless you want to,” Constance corrected. Treville’s eyebrows drew together. “Athos gets asked to do so many signings, and fan conventions. His publishers would swoon if he agreed to even one percent of the invitations.”

“Never mind all that, Constance,” Athos said. “How are we to make this young fellow look like an old crock? No one will believe he’s as old as me.”

“How old is that?” d’Artagnan asked, but at Treville’s frown, he added, “sorry. It slipped out. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m thirty-six, d’Artagnan. And I can tell you a man’s face changes dramatically from twenty-six to thirty-six even without the benefit of being char-grilled.”

“Athos,” Constance chided.

“Do the public know how old you are, though?” d’Artagnan asked. “Could we split the difference, say age me to thirty or so? I could grow a beard. I look older with a beard.”

“Jean?” Athos asked.

“It can’t hurt to try, I suppose,” Treville answered. “And if you can’t grow one fast enough, there are always make-up artists.”

Athos looked at Constance, and the two seemed to be communicating via telepathy. She turned to d’Artagnan. “How about we arrange a photo shoot, and see how it goes?”

“Sure. If it doesn’t work, can I have the pictures? My mum and sisters would get a laugh out of them.”

Athos smiled. “Why not? But no conventions, Constance. It’s unfair of him to have to act as well as look like me.”

“I’m good at acting, you know. I bet I could fool anyone who didn’t already know you, with enough preparation. Are your books the kind of thing I might have read?”

“Unlikely,” Athos said, but Constance spoke over him. “Of course. They’re very popular. He’s Oliver de Fer.”

“You’re kidding! I love him. You. I mean, the books. Shit,” d’Artagnan said, biting his lip before he made more of an arse of himself. Treville was grinning and Constance laughed openly, but not unkindly.

Athos kept his thoughts to himself. “For now, the photo. If a suitable convention comes up, we can consider it. Perhaps a signing or two, if you only have to give a speech. How’s your handwriting?”

“Horrible.”

“Good, so’s mine.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “So, I’m going to be your mini-me now?” Athos looked blank. “Like in those movies?”

“What movies?”

“Never mind,” Constance said kindly. “Athos is above popular culture.”

“I am not! D’Artagnan, do please explain.” Which was how d’Artagnan found himself describing two silly films to a best-selling author while they all drank tea and ate cake in the author’s private and sweetly scented garden.

“Not really my thing, I suspect,” Athos admitted when d’Artagnan finished. “I never saw the Bond films so a parody would go over my head.”

“What’s wrong with Bond movies?” Constance asked.

Treville snorted. “You mean, apart from the fact they’re ridiculous and implausible.”

Athos joined in. “And the character is a miserable excuse for a human being, has no idea how to work in a team despite apparently being a career officer, and treats women like garbage.”

“Yeah, Constance, apart from that, what’s wrong with Bond?” d’Artagnan asked, smirking at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, when you put it like that....”

“But, yes, d’Artagnan, you’ll be my mini-me. Such as it is.” Athos seemed amused, his eyes alight for the first time.

“I only want two things in return,” d’Artagnan said. Athos’s smile disappeared. “A copy of your new book—paperback is fine—and that you don’t tell Porthos and Aramis until they leave. I don’t think I can stand the hazing.”

Athos relaxed, and the smile returned. “Oh, is that all? You don’t want payment?”

“No, _monsieur_. You already pay me very well.”

“I suspect the lawyers will want some token compensation, just to make the agreement valid,” Treville said.

“The book,” d’Artagnan insisted.

“As you wish,” Athos said. “I’ll leave it to Constance to arrange matters with you. I do insist this is not to take up your days’ off, and if you need to buy new clothes, I’ll pay. I have no idea what’s appropriate for this nonsense,” he said in an aside to Treville.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you, d’Artagnan. Would you like to join us for dinner? We’ll be able to get a word in edgewise with Aramis out of the house.”

“Sure. If that’s okay. I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t. But if you would excuse me, I do have to return to my office for a little while. I’ll see you at dinner. No need to dress or anything.”

“Dress?” d’Artagnan asked, wondering if this was some eccentricity of the wealthy class.

“In a jacket, he means,” Constance said. “As you are, is fine.”

“Okay. See you later. Do you want me to help with the trays?”

“No, that’s fine. See you later, d’Artagnan.”

He went back to his cabin. That had all gone pretty well, he thought. The photo shoot should be fun, or, at least, something to tell his mum about.

*********************

Constance followed Athos into the house and up in the elevator. He was sweating a little, but not feeling as anxious as he usually was when forced into the company of a stranger such as a doctor or a lawyer, rare though those occasions were. “Do you need to lie down for a while?” she asked.

“Yes, please. And the painkillers. My back is torturing me.”

She helped him from the chair and onto his bed, making sure he was comfortable before fetching the pain relief and helping him take it. He lay back on the pillows, utterly exhausted. “You think I’d be able to handle an easy conversation like that after all the talking I’ve done with the lads.”

“You were holding yourself tight for most of it,” she said, fussing with the blanket she’d drawn over him. “But at the end, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Amazingly, I was. He’s a very charming fellow, Constance. I commend your excellent judgement, as always.”

“Thank you. I’m wild to see how well we can age him up. I know make-up artists can do astonishing things.”

“They can. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for him to play me in public though. That way madness and exposure lies.”

“I suppose so. Not even a simple book signing?”

“I think not. I don’t wish to be difficult, my dear.”

She stroked the hair off his forehead. “It’s not you, is it? It’s the publisher. But this should get them off your back for a while.”

“I hope so. I think I’ll take a nap, if you don’t mind waking me an hour or so before dinner?”

“Want to see if Sylvie’s online?”

“Yes.” He could share his secrets with Constance. She would never treat them lightly. “And perhaps one or two other friends.”

“Shame you can’t tell them about this great wheeze we’ve come up with.”

“Yes, a bit. But there you go.”

“You’re not an old crock, Athos. Not old or a crock at all.”

“Kind of you, my dear girl, but I can still manage a mirror.”

“Then you don’t see what I see. A kind, generous man with lovely eyes, a thrilling voice, and a delightful smile.”

“Stop. We’re not writing the back matter for my next book.”

“Oh you,” she said with a sigh. She bent and kissed his forehead. “Have a nice nap.”

He did.

*********************

Respecting d’Artagnan’s quite reasonable request that Aramis and Porthos be left in the dark about the agreement, Constance told them when they asked that nothing had been arranged or agreed, and set up the photoshoot for the day after the three friends left to go back on duty. 

“I’ll be sorry to miss it,” Treville confessed when he and Constance were sitting with Athos in his office cum bedroom.

“I’ll film the whole thing, I promise,” Constance said. “D’Artagnan’s ridiculously excited about it. He’s never had a formal portrait shot taken. Such a waste with his looks.”

“Make sure you snatch a few before he’s made up,” Athos said. “For personal use.” He was gratified by Constance’s blush, then her wagging finger. “When are you going out again?”

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“You should take the car,” he said. “Doesn’t he have some horrible old rattler?”

“It is a bit,” she said. “I’ll suggest it, thank you.”

Athos suddenly had an idea how to properly reward d’Artagnan for his assistance, but he would move slowly. He couldn’t afford to offend his gardener, let alone the woman who was becoming more than a little fond of that gardener.

The shoot was _not_ happening at La Fère. Constance had known better than to suggest it, because Athos would never have allowed it. So on the appointed day, he sat on his own in his office, trying to write with half his mind on the events happening in another house thirty kilometres away. He still couldn’t believe d’Artagnan could be made to look thirty, let alone thirty-six.

Time would tell, he supposed.

He had new emails. One from Sylvie, which he opened first.

_Hey there, Oliver. The charity had a photographer around today for a new donation push, so I asked her to take a few of me for my mates. I thought you might like to know what I look like, so I’m sending you the one that’s the least repulsive :)_

He tapped on the attached image. To his surprise, she was black—somehow that had never come up in their conversation. Nor had the fact she was simply stunning, even in a simple t-shirt with her charity’s logo on it, and her long, abundant hair scraped off her face with a bandana. She had...the most amazing eyes. A beautiful, generous mouth, strong planes to her face, high cheekbones, and a long neck.

He couldn’t stop staring at it. For months she had been a quick wit, someone to tussle with over ethics and politics, someone to run ideas past, and to scrape material from for future books. But now....

She was _Sylvie_. A person. A beautiful person with the sweetest, teasing smile, and wide, laughing eyes. Skin that he ached to stroke, lips he longed to kiss.

A woman who would take one look at him and relegate him to “pity the poor sod” status immediately.

She might even be gay for all he knew. They’d never discussed sex, relationships, any of that. She knew nothing of his background, nor his name, and she had never mentioned a lover of any gender.

But as Athos looked at the photo, he felt an emotion he hadn’t felt—hadn’t _allowed_ —in years. And for the sake of his sanity and his friendship with Sylvie, he had to strangle it new born. There was no future in him falling in love again, or even having a friend with benefits. He wasn’t up to it physically or psychologically.

An awful thought struck him. She would expect him to reciprocate. She had _trusted_ him by showing her real face, just as she had trusted him with her real name in this last message. He had given her nothing in return. That lack of balance might kill their friendship, and that, he could not allow either.

To reciprocate honestly would be to invite revulsion or pity. To reciprocate _dishonestly_ would be a heinous betrayal of her trust.

To ignore the implicit request would cause a breach he could not bear.

He didn’t know what to do. His mind turned to the wine in the cellar, but Constance had made him promise not to use alcohol again as a cure for his misery.

If only he could ask someone about this. Someone who was experienced in love and women.

And who wasn’t Aramis.

*********************

Constance was thrilled with the photoshoot. D’Artagnan knew this because she’s told him so at least once a minute for the past half hour. “What will Athos think?”

“I don’t know, but personally, I’m thrilled!” D’Artagnan grinned to himself but said nothing. “It’s perfect! No one will recognise you unless they squint, and you look easily—”

“Thirty-two.”

“Thirty-three. Even thirty-four! I love them.”

“It was fun,” he said. And he got a bunch of photos of himself before he was made up to give to his family, so that was nice. Constance wanted copies too, which was even better. “We should celebrate.”

“We should. But you must have dinner with me tonight at the house. Maybe Athos will join us.”

“Sure, why not?”

She drove into the estate’s garage, where d’Artagnan expected to see his own red banger of a Fiat parked. It wasn’t. In its place was a smart red Mazda SUV. His own car was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s my damn car?” he asked, piling out of the estate’s vehicle.

Constance joined him. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen that one before either. Does Athos have a visitor? Why didn’t he tell me?”

They went over to the red interloper and found a note under the wipers on the windscreen, addressed to d’Artagnan.

_Please come and see me about this. Athos._

“What’s he up to?”

Constance held up her hands and shrugged. “No idea.” She texted someone on her phone, and waited for the answer. “He’s up and around, so let’s go see him.”

They rode up in the lift to the third storey. D’Artagnan had never been privileged to enter Athos’s private domain before. It looked to him as if the entire floor was given over to the owner’s accommodation and office. The lift arrived in the office itself, where Athos was sitting at his desk. “Ah, welcome back. How did it go?”

“It’s brilliant, Constance said, bouncing over and handing him the USB stick with the selection of photos for the publisher. She had another three with the entire shoot, and a back up of it.

Athos put the stick in his computer and used a voice command to open it up and show the images. He put his hand on his chin as he examined them all, occasionally clicking his mouse, but showing no other reaction.

“Well?” Constance demanded when her patience ran out.

“They’ll do nicely,” Athos said with a small smile. “Good work, both of you. And thank you, d’Artagnan.”

“You’re welcome. What have you done with my car?”

“Replaced it. That horrible thing you were hauling around was an environmental and safety menace. Can’t have my estate’s reputation ruined by one of my senior staff driving a clunker.” He handed d’Artagnan a padded envelope. “Keys, insurance, ownership papers, and the details of where you can find your old car. It’s at a scrap merchant who will store it until you decide whether you want to junk it or try to sell it. I recommend junking it.”

D’Artagnan gaped. “How am I supposed to afford a new car, Athos?”

“You’re not. I’m paying for it. After all, it’s my reputation I’m worried about.”

“You can’t—”

Constance turned to face him. “He can. Just...let him, okay? I’ll explain later.”

D’Artagnan frowned. “Look, this is very nice of you—” Athos dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “But I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity. If it was, I could write it off my tax. It’s a perk. I don’t wish to discuss it further. Constance, you’ve once again performed a miracle. I’ll pick one or two and send them to the publisher and I sincerely hope this lays the entire issue to rest.”

“So do I,” she said, ignoring d’Artagnan’s rising temper beside her. “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“Ah...not tonight. I’m tired. I’m sorry. But soon? Perhaps tomorrow? The next day?”

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you need anything?”

“No, no. I’ll see you later.” He nodded in dismissal, then turned back to his laptop.

Constance took D’Artagnan’s arm and urged him back to the lift. D’Artagnan was steaming mad but kept his anger bottled long enough for them to exit Athos’s office and return to the ground floor.

“What the _fuck_ does he think he’s doing, Constance?”

She put her hands on her hips. “What do you think he’s doing?”

“Being a high-handed lord of the manor, making decisions for me!”

“Oh. I thought he was being lovely, and giving you a gift as a thank you for helping him out with this damn photo issue which has been plaguing him for weeks, if not longer. It’s a _present_ , d’Artagnan. One you didn’t ask for, I know. But that’s how gifts work.”

“He can’t give me a car!”

“Why not?”

He stared at her. “Because...it’s expensive!”

“It’s second hand, I know that. It’s a modest model, very practical, with more room in the back for you to haul stuff around the estate, and supplies when you want to buy them. If I know Athos, and I do, he’ll have researched it up and down, backwards and forwards, to find exactly the right car for you and your job, and your petrol budget.”

“But I didn’t ask...I didn’t expect anything except the book.”

“I know. He knows that too. But he wanted to do more. Please, let him? It’s one of his few joys in life, spoiling his friends.”

“But I’m not—”

She put her finger on his lips. “Yes, you are now. Only friends get to see him, talk to him, argue with him, and help him.”

D’Artagnan didn’t know what to say. She took his hand. “Want to go and have a closer look? We even have time to go for a little run, if you like. I think we might even have time to have coffee and cake together.”

He grinned. “Yeah? Okay!”

*********************

Athos was lying on his bed when Constance brought his dinner in on a tray. She set it down and helped him up and into his wheelchair. “How much trouble am I in?” he asked as he wheeled himself over to the table.

“Not much. I explained, he calmed down. But you can’t keep doing this, Athos. He’s got his pride.”

“I know. But I had an inspiration and I wanted to do it. Was it very wrong of me?”

She kissed his head and put her arm around his shoulders. “Of course not. It was very sweet of you, and he loves it already. He’s not used to your ways, that’s all.”

“Ah. He looks good in those shots, don’t you think?”

“Oh yes! But also not very like him in reality, so there’s plenty of plausible deniability.”

“Yes, I thought so. Your suggestion worked beautifully. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You always are. Why don’t you want to join us for supper?”

“You don’t want me playing gooseberry, dear. You go and spend more time with him.”

She folded her arms. “Matchmaking?”

“Not at all. Gently encouraging in the direction you’re already headed. Unless I’m completely wrong about the two of you, and I know I’m not.”

“You can’t help yourself, can you?”

He tried to look innocent. “Is it so evil to want two young people who are obviously very fond of each other, to spend more time with each other?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Are you really tired?”

“Yes. I was on tenterhooks all day, wondering how the shoot would go.”

“Sorry.” She came to kiss his head again. “Now you can relax. Would you like me to join you later?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll eat and read a little, then go to bed. I’ll call if I need help.”

“Then I’ll see you at breakfast. Sleep well, darling.”

“You too.”

*********************

Athos’s publishers were absolutely delighted by the photos he sent, and his agent said she could kiss him. Which she wouldn’t because they had never met in person, and never would if he had his way. But all in all, the ‘stand-in’ idea had been a success without a single downside. Aramis even went so far as to call it a perfect solution, which was high praise indeed.

D’Artagnan also calmed down about the car, and went out of his way to thank Athos in person when he saw him next. It made taking Constance out a little more pleasant, which had been part of Athos’s motivation. He tried not to think about what might happen if the two young people took the next logical step, and progressed towards marriage or co-habitation. He just had to hope they would stay at the estate even if they were man and wife.

His new book came out with the new photo on the back, and he took a delight in giving d’Artagnan a signed first edition. The lad hugged it to his chest. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“No, read it and lend it to a friend,” Athos said. “I don’t believe in hoarding books which aren’t being used.”

“This isn’t a book. It’s a memory.”

Athos bowed his head. “I’m honoured you feel that way.”

“You’re welcome.”

Athos was now more at ease with life than he had been in years. His career as an author was firmly established, the new book was winning plaudits all over the place, his household was settled, happy and thriving. His health was no worse than usual, though the chronic pain and the fight not to become addicted to painkillers was a constant battle. His demons would be with him forever, he felt, though Constance sometimes dropped hints that he hadn’t really given psychotherapy a chance. “They’re making breakthroughs in treating PTSD all the time,” she said.

“I don’t want to go to a clinic.”

“Athos, no one would care how you looked.”

“That’s...not the reason, my dear.”

She hugged him and told him that when he was ready, she would be at his side. Which gave him, in its way, a small bit of armour to hold off the anxiety and panic attacks.

His online friendship with Sylvie was still healthy, thank the gods. She was enthusiastic about the idea of a book set in Haiti, and together they were developing a plot and characters, even a possible series. Athos thought he might create a pen name for this project, and Sylvie could be given co-author credit. They were even discussing donating the proceeds to the charity she worked for.

The summer ended, the autumn brought cooler weather and the colours of changing seasons. The walled garden, which he could see in its entirety from his windows, continued to look splendid, and the bits of the rest of the estate he could see, also seemed to be thriving. Aramis and Porthos visited for a three day weekend at the end of October, and reported that there had been improvements in the shape of the trees, with lots of replanting going on. “I think your boy is making an orchard,” Aramis told him.

“Good for him. Maybe he could plant a vineyard too.”

“Planning to go into wine-making, Athos?”

“I thought you two might fancy treading the grapes. Your feet are big enough.” Constance giggled herself into incoherency over that.

Porthos had asked Elodie to marry him, and the civil ceremony would take place before Christmas. He had no idea when a full party would happen—neither of them had any family, but plenty of friends in and out of the military. Athos felt he should offer La Fère as a venue, but every time he resolved to do just that, anxiety overwhelmed him and he had to go and hide for a couple of hours.

“He doesn’t expect it, you know,” Constance said once she worked out the problem.

“I know, but he’s one of my dearest, oldest friends. And I have this enormous house and grounds that no one is using.”

“ _You’re_ using it, Athos. Why not offer to pay for another venue close by?”

“Yes. I’ll do that instead. Or they can use the money as a downpayment on a house or something.”

He still felt like a poor friend, though realistically he could do little else. Porthos went out of his way to reassure Athos that his marriage would not affect their friendship. When Athos was ready—if he ever was—Elodie wanted to meet the man her fiancé loved so well.

Athos thought he might be able to manage that sooner rather than later. He felt that he should try, and he could count on all the support a man could want, if he did.

Life was good, all in all.

But in November, his carefully constructed peaceful life threatened to come crashing down around his ears.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

*********************

Constance found d’Artagnan in the garden shed where he was sheltering from the wind and light rain. “Hello,” he said. “I would have come to you if you’d called. Have a seat.”

“I wanted to talk to you face to face.” She pulled her coat closer around her. He pushed the little heater closer to her. “Why aren’t you freezing?”

“Because it’s not that cold, just wet. Softie,” he teased, touching her nose.

“Mean man. What are you doing?”

“Making plans for next year. I made a map of the gardens, so I need to decide where to plant and what to leave fallow for a bit.”

“You talk like a farmer.”

“It’s just good practice. We don’t want to douse the land in chemicals more than we have to, so I’m using non-chemical methods to increase fertility and suppress pests. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Oh, it’s Athos.” Her mouth turned down unhappily. “He’s done something rather silly, and it’s come back to bite him, and of course, being Athos, he’s twisted himself up in knots over it.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing really. I just wanted to talk to you about it. I feel awful for him but I can’t see how I can help him. I hate that.”

“He’s a grown man, Constance. He can handle his own mistakes, can’t he?”

“Not this kind. It involves a woman.”

“Athos and a woman?”

“Athos and Sylvie.”

“Ah.” D’Artagnan had heard all about Sylvie, Athos’s internet girlfriend. “What did he do?”

“Sent her his photo. She sent him one of herself, and he convinced himself it would be incredibly rude and off-putting not to reciprocate. So he sent him one of the ones we took at the photoshoot.”

“That wasn’t very honest of him, was it?”

“No. And he knows that. But at the same time, he thought what harm could it do? He was only trying to be a good friend.”

“Okay. It’s too late to undo it. But what’s happened now?”

“She’s coming back to France. Specifically, to Paris. And says she can’t wait to meet him in person.”

“Oh.” D’Artagnan bit his lip. “Awkward.”

“No kidding. I don’t see he has any choice but to either tell her the truth, or tell her he doesn’t want to see her.”

“Isn’t he writing a book with her? If he says he doesn’t want to see her, she’ll be offended enough to jump ship.”

“Exactly. But if he tells her he lied to her, she might walk off too.” She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know what to advise him to do. He’s distraught over the whole thing.”

“There’s another solution. Let me play him. I can meet her, and then make up some excuse why we can’t meet again, or at least, very often. Maybe he’ll be travelling or something.”

“You can’t do that, d’Artagnan. How would you pretend to be a former military man, now an author?”

“Hey. He doesn’t talk about his background in his bio, does he? And I know his books backwards. I reckon I could play him better than he plays himself.”

She coughed out a laugh. “I believe you. But it’s not a realistic option.”

“Why not? How long until she’s back in France?”

“I don’t know but—”

“Can’t you at least suggest it to him? It might give him a chance to calm down and then a better idea will come to him.”

“Hmmm. There’s something in that. I’ll see if he’s free after lunch to talk to you. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Anything to get out of this freezing shed.”

“Oy!”

*********************

“No. Thank you, d’Artagnan, but there’s no way this could work. You could never fool Sylvie, or any of my fans.”

“Bet you I could. Set me a test, and I’ll ace it.”

Athos lifted his eyes to heaven. “This isn’t a game. My friendship with Sylvie is precious to me.”

“And I’m trying to help you save it, Athos. Just let me meet her, and then we make up a reason why you can’t meet her again soon. Keep it short and simple and sweet, so she doesn’t feel you’re avoiding her, and then you can go back to chatting on line. You can even Skype and stuff, using my photo as your screen.”

Athos looked at Constance. “Don’t tell me _you_ think this could work.”

“I don’t know. It might give you some breathing space. On the other hand, if you deceive her twice, she really might never forgive you.”

Athos winced. “Then I can’t. Thank you, d’Artagnan. Your offer is very kind, and I mean to cast no doubts on your abilities. She doesn’t arrive until April so I have time to decide what to do.”

“No worries, Athos,” d’Artagnan said. “Do you want my advice?”

“Of course, please speak freely.”

“Tell her the truth. But do it face to face. You’ll win her over with who you are. I can’t see how she can fail to like you.”

Athos stared at him. “I’ve lied to her.”

“Yeah. But when she meets you, you can explain. It’s not like you’re some gross old pervert trying to groom a kid, is it? Your situation is...special.”

“Special.” Athos made the word sound like a curse. “That’s one word for it. But thank you. You are, as ever, very kind. Both of you.”

Constance went over and kissed his head, then walked towards the elevator. “Did I offend him?” d’Artagnan whispered as the elevator went down.

“What? Oh, no, I don’t think so. He’s angry at himself. But you’re right. If Sylvie’s worth anything, she would understand. But Athos will never believe that he’s worth anyone’s affection. Even ours.”

“The wife and brother really screwed him up, didn’t they?”

“They really did. Don’t get me started how I would have dealt with them.”

D’Artagnan had some idea. Constance was as fierce as she was loyal, and he loved her for it. “When can I take you out again?”

“Again? Monsieur, you’ll grow tired of me.”

He dared to lean in for a kiss on her cheek, which made her blush. “Never. Not in a lifetime of lifetimes.”

“You have a poet’s tongue, d’Artagnan.”

“One day I’ll show you what other skills my tongue has, if you’ll let me.”

“Charles! Not at work.”

He grinned at her. “And that’s why we need to go out. So I can talk about the things you won’t let me say here.”

“So the next date is in a brothel, is it?”

“If that’s what you want, okay.”

She gently slapped his arm. “Go away.”

“It’s nearly lunchtime and it’s raining.”

“Then go away to the kitchen, you evil man.”

He bowed deeply. “Yes, my lady.”

*********************

Athos could not believe d’Artagnan’s kind words or accept his advice. Something changed in his relationship with Sylvie once they exchanged photos. She had taken it as implicit permission to share more personal information. He learned she was only a year older than d’Artagnan, that she had lost her father in a street mugging four years ago, and that Athos’s books had helped her through some dark times since then. In return, he tried to give her as much information as was safe. That his parents were also both dead, as was his brother. He didn’t mention marriage, or any relationships beyond a girlfriend he’d had while at Saint-Cyr who reminded him of Sylvie in her overwhelming desire to improve the world.

He knew she wanted more, but he couldn’t...just couldn’t. His feelings were pulling him apart. One set urged him to trust her, tell her the trust, become closer to this admirable, generous young woman. The other half told him to flee, that she could be lying to him and using a fake photo as much as he was, that she was only trying to get close to exploit him.

His wretched, evil experience with his wife’s betrayal, his once deeply loved brother trying to murder him purely for monetary gain, had destroyed his ability to trust strangers entirely. He’d let d’Artagnan get close because four of Athos’s friends—his only friends—had vouched for his character so resoundingly. (And Treville had quietly done a police check on him as well.) But no one could vouch for Sylvie.

He was happy to collaborate with her because he didn’t care enough about his books to fret about ideas being stolen, and he knew enough to document the development process if push came to shove. But further than that, he could not go, no matter how lovely she was, or friendly, or kind.

Clever, generous, warm, funny....

Damn, he had fallen for her so hard.

He allowed Constance to distract him with plans for Christmas. The lads were coming, of course, and with Athos’s permission, Porthos was bringing Elodie for the first time. They had already married in a civil ceremony and excluding her while inviting Porthos would be the worst possible insult. He trusted Porthos enough to prepare his new wife for the gargoyle in the loft.

D’Artagnan would also be here, though he would go home briefly over New Year. He and Constance had progressed to stealing kisses in the garden when they thought no one was looking, and going out three or four times a week. Athos was happy for them. Jealous, true, and worried, but mostly happy. He began to look at ads for companions, and people advertising themselves as one, although he didn’t do anything about finding one for himself. Not yet. He would wait until he had to.

Porthos and Elodie were the first to arrive for the Christmas holidays. Athos arranged to meet them downstairs in the living room, with Constance at his side. Porthos came in, beaming brighter than Athos had even seen him, and his side, a slight, lovely young woman. “Athos, Constance, my wife. Elodie l’Archer.”

Constance rose to greet her, kissing both cheeks. “Welcome, Elodie. I’m Constance LaValle, and I’m overjoyed to meet you.” She led her over to Athos.

“Welcome, sister,” Athos said, trying hard to keep his gaze steady and calm.

“Hello, Athos, my brother,” Elodie said, holding out her hands, and accepting his, both ruined and whole. She bent to kiss his forehead. “I feel like I’ve known you for ages. Thank you for allowing me into your family.”

“You were already part of it, my dear. A sister-in-arms.”

“Yes, and now a sister in law. Sort of,” she added with a grin.

Porthos came over and put his arm around his lady. “We decided we didn’t want a wedding party. Everyone we really want to celebrate with, will be here this week. We can see the rest of our mates at work.”

“You can have a dozen wedding parties that way, if you play your cards right,” Constance said.

“That’s what we were thinking,” Porthos said with a cheeky grin. “When are Aramis and the boss arriving?”

“This afternoon. D’Artagnan should be along...right now, actually.”

The boy came in, smiling hugely. “Hi, Porthos. And this must be the lovely Elodie. Charles d’Artagnan, at your service.” He bowed.

Elodie rolled her eyes at Constance. “Really?”

“Yeah, he’s like that. D’Artagnan, stand up, you idiot.”

He did so and offered his hand to Elodie, who shook it, before he kissed her cheeks. “I’m only the gardener, by the way. So you can tell me to bugger off if you want.”

“Why would I want to do that? Anyway, nice to meet you, only the gardener.”

Athos sat back, amused by the by-play. Constance glanced at him to make sure he was all right, then said, “Right, Porthos, you deal with your bags. Elodie, would you like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, but let me help you.”

“Okay. D’Artagnan, you can keep Athos company.”

That left the two of them sitting near the fire. “Thanks for giving me the time off, boss.”

“Nonsense,” Athos said. “Every good employer gives their people Xmas and New Year off. I’m glad you’ve chosen to be here for part of it.”

D’Artagnan looked up, and for the first time since Athos had first met him, seemed a little shy. “Um, well, I wanted to spend more time with Constance. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh yes. Dreadfully so. Please stop dating her at once.”

D’Artagnan’s eyes widened in shock before he realised Athos was joking. “My God, I thought you meant it.”

“What kind of monster do you think I am? Or have you worked for some appalling people?”

“Neither. I just, um...well, you two are so close, and I thought you might think I was getting in the way.”

Athos chuckled. “You don’t think I had at least half a dozen sneaky ways of nipping your romance in the bud if I thought that? I’m delighted, d’Artagnan. She’s a wonderful person, as are you. You have my blessing.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“Your business, not mine. I trust you to behave like adults, and the decent human beings I know you both to be.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

“Only the truth, d’Artagnan.”

“No, I mean it.” The boy leaned in. “She really admires you, and your opinion is important to her. But it’s important to me too. I want you to be pleased with me.”

“I suppose I _am_ nearly old enough to be your father.”

“Ha ha, not really. Um...is it rude to ask how things are going with Sylvie.”

Athos’s chest contracted. “Not rude, no. It’s a difficult subject.”

D’Artagnan put his hands up. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“No, it’s fine. I haven’t made a decision. I suppose I’m hoping something will happen that means I don’t have to.”

“Like, she decides not to come back to France?”

Athos nodded. “Or she gets a better offer somewhere other than Paris. I’m a coward, I know that. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of though—hurting her, or her hurting me.”

“Whatever happens, your friends will stick by you. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. That much I do believe.”

“Good. What’s she like then?”

“Would you like to see her photo?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Athos pulled his iPad out of the pocket on his wheelchair, and called up the photo which he had carefully preserved in at least four different places. D’Artagnan took the tablet and looked. “Pretty.”

“She’s beautiful. But she’s also generous and kind, works hard for some of the most underprivileged people on earth, has a marvellous sense of humour, and she’s so clever, d’Artagnan. She runs rings around me, and I’m not exactly stupid.”

D’Artagnan handed him the iPad. “Almost too good to be true.” His brown eyes held a question.

“Describe Constance to me, if you would. As if I didn’t know her. What does she look like?”

“She’s gorgeous. She has these eyes that light up when she smiles, and these dimples that make me weak at the knees. Nice figure, not that I care, long silky brunette hair. And she makes me laugh all the time, and she’s smart and loyal, and so kind to me.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “Definitely too good to be true then.”

“But I _know_ her, Athos. I’ve met her, spent lots of time with her. How much do you really know about Sylvie? How do you know she even works where she says she does?”

“I found her picture on the charity’s website, with a short bio about her, so that much is true. The rest I only know from her emails. You think I shouldn’t trust her?”

“I think...it’s easy for people to pretend to be something other than they are on the internet.”

“You mean, like I’m doing.”

D’Artagnan flushed. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. You’re not trying to...you mean no harm. Believe me, not everyone you talk to online is like you.”

“You’ve been hurt?”

“A couple of times, yeah. You think you know someone really well and then something comes up—the smallest thing, sometimes—and boom, you realise they’re so not what you thought. I found that out when my dad died.”

“I’m sorry. I take your warning seriously. I’ve had all these thoughts myself, so it’s nice to know I’m not crazy for thinking them.”

“Who's not crazy?” Constance said. She carried a tray, as did Elodie. Porthos was behind the two of them, carrying a basket of wood. D’Artagnan leapt up to take it from him, but Porthos waved him off.

“You're off duty, mate. Sit down.”

“Just trying to be nice.”

“Save it for Aramis.” D’Artagnan scowled and Porthos laughed at his expression. “Still ain’t forgiven him, eh?”

“Porthos, you of all people know our friend can be quite insufferable even when he’s trying to be nice,” Athos said.

“And intolerable when he’s _trying_ to be insufferable,” Constance added.

“He doesn’t have to _try_ ,” d’Artagnan muttered. Elodie laughed. Clearly she knew Aramis all too well.

Christmas was going to be fun.

*********************

Constance insisted on driving d’Artagnan to Charles de Gaulle airport, though he’d said she didn’t need to. “This way I can see you for a little longer,” she said.

“I wish I hadn’t arranged to go home.” Though he wouldn’t be taking as long over it as he first thought. He’d intended to drive, which would have taken over eight hours each way, but Athos had surprised him with direct flight return tickets—which must have cost a _fortune_ at this time of year—and so each leg would only take about four hours, and for one of those hours, he would have Constance for company.

“You have to see your mum and your sisters, d’Artagnan.”

“You’re not.”

“Well, no. But both my parents are alive, and they always go to my brother in Switzerland. I see them and speak to them more than enough. They don’t live as far away as your family does.”

“No. And I do miss them. I’ll miss you though. Just as much.”

She took her hand off the steering wheel to stroke his face. “Me too, darling. But we’ll have time together when you get back. We can have our own New Year celebration.”

“Can’t wait. What will you all do?”

“Probably just sit up and toast the New Year. Athos won’t make it. He can’t stay up that late. Even if he could stay awake, his back would kill him.”

“He broke it, Porthos said?”

“Yes, and his pelvis was crushed, along with his right femur. The doctors say there’s nothing more they can do for him.”

“I don’t think I could cope as well as he does,” d’Artagnan said. His fitness, strength and speed had always been something he enjoyed.

“You don’t know until you have to. He was like you, once. Fit and strong, light on his feet. That’s another reason I’m glad you’re not driving all that way. Too many rotten drivers on the road, even if they aren’t trying to kill you.”

“Now I’ll be worried about you driving back to the estate on your own.”

“Do you have some super power, _monsieur_ , to magically make this poor, simple woman a better driver when you’re with him?”

“If something happens to you, Constance, I want to be with you. That’s all.”

“Oh, D’Artagnan, you’re sweet. Idiotic but so sweet.”

“Oy.”

*********************

_Well, there’s good news and bad news, Oliver. The bad news is that I’m typing this from a hospital bed in Port au Prince. I was in a jeep accident yesterday—it ran off the road, and I ended up with a badly broken leg. So badly broken that I was flown almost immediately to Fort de France in  Martinique to be operated on. It hurt like hell yesterday but now I’m on the really good drugs._

Sylvie? In a car accident? Athos pressed his hand against the sudden pain in his chest, then he reached for the glass of water on his desk.

_And that leads to the good news. Because it’s going to take so long to mend, I’m coming back to France three months earlier than planned, and I’ll stay on until my teaching post begins. So I’ll be able to meet up with you in a week or so, if you don’t mind me being on crutches. So while I’m sorry to be finishing my job here sooner than I planned, I can’t wait to see you in the flesh, and talk to you about the book. Wish me luck, my friend!_

Athos’s anxiety spiked again, but for a completely different reason this time. She would be _here_. And he would either have to meet her, or refuse to.

_My dear Sylvie. I nearly had a heart attack at your news of your accident. I’m so pleased the injury wasn’t more serious, and I sincerely hope your recuperation will be swift and as pain-free as possible. France will be all the brighter for your presence, I’m sure. Please me know how things are going. Please also let me know if there’s anything I can send you which will make the time pass more pleasantly._

He sat back and stared at the email she had sent him. He wasn’t ready to meet her at all.

He wasn’t ready to lose her either.

He called Constance. “I need your help. And d’Artagnan’s.”

“We’ll be up as soon as possible. Don’t work yourself up, darling.”

Fat chance. He actually took an anxiolytic, something he tried very hard not to do, but it was either that or wait for his heart to climb out of his chest.

Constance and d’Artagnan were in his room in under five minutes. “What on earth?” Constance rushed to his side. “Breathe, love.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe. Hold it, let it out slow. In...hold...out. In...hold...out.”

Only when she was satisfied he wasn’t going to give himself a stroke, did she stop coaching him. “What?”

He could only point to the screen in front of him. She read it. “Oh no! Is she all right...oh yes. Oh. Oh dear.”

“Yes,” he croaked out. “Water? Please?”

D’Artagnan was the one to fill it from the jug on the side table. “Thank you,” Athos managed once he had swallowed some. “I can’t, Constance. I’m not ready.”

“I know, darling.”

“What’s happened?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Sylvie is coming back in a week or so. Not in three months.”

“Oh. Damn.” D’Artagnan sat in front of his desk and waited for Athos to be ready to talk. Constance stood behind Athos a little longer, stroking what was left of his hair.

“Better?”

“A little. Thank you.”

She joined d’Artagnan on the other side of the desk. “Well, the options are the same as they were when you first heard about this. You either tell her the truth, or you tell her a kind lie about not being around.”

“I can’t, Constance. D’Artagnan...you said you could play me. Could you do that just once?”

“Sure. I’d need to read some of the emails she’s sent, bone up on the background, that kind of thing. But what if she twigs?”

“She won’t. I’m sure she won’t. But you should...put her off. Be boring or...rude or something. So she doesn’t want to meet again. Not enough that she won’t talk in email. But so that face to face is less pleasant.”

D’Artagnan gave him a look which was either pity for the situation, or pity for him suggesting such a thing and proving he was an idiot. “That could backfire really badly, Athos.”

“Yes, it could,” Constance said. “The line between socially awkward and creepy arsehole is a fine one, and I don’t think you can stay on the right side unless you _are_ really socially awkward. Which d’Artagnan isn’t.”

“No. What do I do? I can’t lose her, but I can’t...I can’t show her this monster’s mask either.”

“You’re not a monster,” she snapped. “Any woman who would reject you for your looks isn’t worth your time.”

“She’s expecting _him_ ,” Athos said, pointing at ridiculously handsome d’Artagnan. More so now he’d grown the beard they’d had to fake for the photoshoot. “If she expects Adonis and ends up with Vulcan, she feel cheated, and rightly so.”

“I know what to do,” d’Artagnan said, to Constance's obvious surprise. “I’ll tell her you’re gay. And that you didn’t want to tell her because you didn’t know if she would reject you.”

Athos sagged with relief. “Yes. Do that. It’s perfect. Then we can still be friends.”

“But how will you avoid more meetings?” Constance asked.

“Boyfriend,” d’Artagnan said. “I’ll say you’ve recently met someone and  you’ve hit it off and that you expect your time to be taken up with him now.”

“Can it work?” Athos asked.

“I think so. I’m sure so, in fact. Now, all I need to do is read up on the things you’ve talked about, the things she’s interested in. Maybe get a haircut. Oh, and decide where to meet her. I can suggest some places. So you make up the brief, I’ll handle the other stuff, and Constance can arrange the makeup artist again. Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, d’Artagnan. This is a tremendous relief. I’m so sorry for being dramatic about it.”

“No problem. I know what it’s like.”

“You’re a kind man. As kind as your lovely young woman.”

Constance blushed. “Oh you.”

“He’s not wrong about you,” d’Artagnan said, taking her hand. “So, do you want us to stick around a bit longer?”

“No, no. I’ll put the information together, and give it to you tomorrow. Then all we have to do it wait for Sylvie to return and ask to meet up. Which she will.”

“It’ll be fine,” d’Artagnan said with a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.”

*********************

Constance rounded on him as soon as they got out of the elevator. “You can’t do this, Charles! There’s no way Sylvie will believe you’re him.”

 “Grab your coat, and come to the shed.”

“What?”

“Come on. We can’t talk here.”

Still scowling at him, she followed him to the lobby and got her coat and scarf. D’Artagnan put a woolly hat on her head for good measure. It was bloody cold today, actually freezing.

He waited until he had the heater on in his shed, then he took her hand. “You’re right. It can’t work, and I’m not even going to try and make it work.”

“What? D’Artagnan, you can’t deceive him!”

He put his finger on his lips. “Hear me out, love?” She nodded, though she was still frowning. “I just said all that to reassure him, but I’m not lying to Sylvie. That would end their friendship forever. Athos is in love with her. Head over heels. But he’s terrified of being betrayed again. So between now and then, we check up on this Sylvie, make sure she’s who she says she is, and the things she’s told him in her emails check out. And when I meet her, I’m going to talk to her long enough to find out if she feels the same about him as he does about her, and if she’s as wonderful as he thinks. If she is, I’m bringing her back.”

“You ca—”

“Shhh, wait. I’m bringing her back because this can’t go on, he loves her, and if she’s half the woman he thinks she is, she’ll understand. And before I bring her back, you and I will tell her about Athos, and why he’s the way he is.”

“What if she’s not in love with him? Or she’s not as wonderful as he thinks?”

“Then I’ll either go with the gay line, or do something to piss her off completely and break the bad news to him. Better that than have him continue to believe she’s worthy of his love.”

She bit her lip. “It’s a hell of a risk. I think we should ask Aramis...Treville at the very least.”

“No. Love, you know Athos better than any of us, and I’ve got a fair bit of experience with people. Aramis sees relationships in a way Athos could never do. And don’t tell me Treville knows more about love than you.”

“I know as much about failed relationships at least,” she said with a wry twist to her mouth. “I’m not sure.”

“Then let’s talk it through. Read her emails, investigate her. Think about it a lot more. Talk to Athos about her, and you’ll see I’m right about his feelings.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right about those. He would never be this worked up if he wasn’t. I’m just worried he’s created a fantasy woman in his mind who could never equal reality.”

“Then talk to him about her. He’ll babble on happily if you let him. He can’t help himself. It’s sweet, but scary for him if it comes crashing down.”

She cupped his cheek. “You really care, don’t you.”

“He’s a good man. He deserves good things. The best thing I know about him is that you love and admire him. Any man you love, has to be a good man.”

“I’m looking at one, you know.”

He stared at her. “A good man?”

“A man I love. Who’s also a good man.” She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I loved you from the day I met you. I want to marry you one day. Is that all right?”

She grinned and kissed him again. “More than all right. Any time you’re ready.”

There wasn’t much talking in the shed after that for a long time.

*********************

Not that he expected anything else, but Athos was still gratified by the seriousness with which d’Artagnan approached the task before him. Once Athos gave him the emails to read and his notes, and d’Artagnan had absorbed them, he had questions. Athos spent hours with him, answering those questions, enlarging, explaining, musing and extrapolating. D’Artagnan absorbed it all.

Athos found it a guilty pleasure, dwelling so much on the woman he dared not ever have, or even admit he wanted. But not once did d’Artagnan mock him or suggest in anyway that his feelings for a woman he’d never met were a little unwise.

Constance also threw herself into it, despite her obvious concerns. She made sure d’Artagnan looked the part but not identical to the author photo because that would arouse suspicions.

Finally they were ready. All Athos had to do was wait for Sylvie to ask to meet. He didn’t have to wait long. She emailed him as soon as she arrived in Paris and asked if he would mind very much having coffee with her.

“Do you mind?” he asked d’Artagnan.

“I’m ready, willing and able.”

“Then...I’ll say yes?” Athos still wasn’t sure. So much rode on d’Artagnan getting it right.

“Say yes,” Constance said.

So he did. His heart threatened to explode. “Oh God.”

“Calm down,” she said, coming around to hug him. “Trust d’Artagnan, and me.”

“Always. Thank you. Both of you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think we do,” she murmured, laying her cheek on his hair.

Constance would drive d’Artagnan to the meeting, and park up to wait for him. Athos would have liked her to stay with him but he understood the need for d’Artagnan to have moral support at hand, particularly if things went tits up.

When the morning came, he couldn’t eat a morsel, and had slept badly. Constance was concerned. “We could cancel.”

“No, no! I’d be this way whenever it was arranged, and if you cancel I’ll have suffered for nothing.”

“Then promise me you’ll take one of your anti-anxiety pills and go back to sleep. I’ll come up when we get back, and you can have lunch with d’Artagnan and me.”

“All right. That’s all very wise.”

“I’ll ask Maude to come check on you?”

“No, please don’t. I’ll keep the phone by me. I’ll call her if I need her, I promise.”

She helped him take the medicine and hobble to the loo, straightened his bedclothes, and sat with him until the medication took effect, stroking his hair. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” he murmured.

“You won’t ever have to.”

“But d’Artagnan loves you.”

“Yes, he does, and I love him. We both love you and that means we’re not leaving you. Ever.” She bent and kissed his forehead. “Get some sleep, darling. It’ll be fine, I promise.”

*********************

“I hate this, d’Artagnan,” Constance muttered as they set off. “He’s going to have a heart attack when we bring her in.”

“Yes, but once the shock is over, if she’s kind, then it will be wonderful. And we won’t bring her back if she isn’t.” D’Artagnan put his hand on her thigh. “We’ll be there to pick up the pieces, but I think it will be better than you think. We have to do something. Do you want to watch him eat his heart out for years and years? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

“Yes, he has. He really truly has.”

She didn’t say any more before they reached the town where Sylvie had to agree to meet, at a café near the train station. Constance would go to another café close by and monitor the conversation through a microphone D’Artagnan wore. Once he said the code word “Barbados”, she would send her opinion whether to go ahead or not by text. D’Artagnan prayed it would work. Listening to the yearning in Athos’s voice as they had worked together to prepare d’Artagnan had been heart-breaking. D’Artagnan was determined to give this good man what he so desperately wanted, if it was safe to do so.

He hovered near the train station itself, ready to assist Sylvie if she needed it. The train she planned to be on was on time, and he spotted her quite easily, since she was the only person wearing a full-leg cast. He rushed over to help her. “Oliver?” she said, and awkwardly threw her arms around him, still juggling the crutches.

“Let’s get you somewhere you can sit,” d’Artagnan said.

“Thanks. I’m still managing these damn things.” Her voice was husky, lovely, and she was even more lively and beautiful in the flesh than in the only photo Athos had of her.

“How long before you’re off them?”

“Two months,” she groaned. “My driver nearly died though. The road side crumbled under us. Seismic action, we think.”

“Good grief. You were lucky.”

“We both were. Oh Oliver, it’s amazing to meet you at last! It was all that kept me going this last week. I was in so much pain.”

“You poor thing. Here we are.” He helped her into the café, and to a table where she could stretch out her leg.

“Oooh, that’s better. Now, let me look at you properly. Gosh, you look so young in person.”

“Not so much. You look even more lovely in person.”

She smiled sweetly. “You’re very kind. It’s weird to be back in Paris and having to give a damn about clothes and makeup and all that again. I’m not sure I like it. I still feel I’ve deserted the Haitians. There’s so much to do, so little money, never enough professionals, and the weather and the land seem to delight in making life hell on earth for those who live there.”

She stopped as the waiter came to take their order, and d’Artagnan replied when he’d gone. “You’ve given years of your life, and your new job will train more to go out there. That’s not nothing.”

“I suppose not. And our book, Oliver! It could be the best recruiting tool we could hope for.”

For the next hour—and he silently apologised to Constance for having to wait on her own while they chatted—d’Artagnan and Sylvie talked, subjects ranging widely from the book to President Macron and the idiot in the White House, climate change, Athos’s lead female character, and disabled access on the Métro. At no point did d’Artagnan detect the least meanness or intolerance, and he was confident that if he went with their original plan and told Sylvie that ‘Oliver de Fer’ was gay, she would cheer him and his supposed new boyfriend on.

But he also realised that Sylvie would be disappointed if he did go with that plan because he was almost certain she was deeply in love with the Athos she knew from online. But that was only a part of who Athos was because she had no clue of the dreadful events that had led to Athos’s current hermit-like state.

That was the only thing that made him hesitate. There was so much she didn’t know. Would dumping all that on her be too much?

But she was such a generous, kind person, and it wasn’t like Athos needed a nurse. He only wanted someone to love him in a way that none of his friends could.

He managed to insert the code word into the conversation, and Constance’s text came immediately. _Yes_.

“Sylvie, I wonder if I could ask a favour?”

“Anything, Oliver. You know that.”

“Okay. Then if you could give me two hours of your time, and come and meet some people.”

Her face lit up with curiosity. “Oooh, who?”

“You need to be patient.” He signalled for the bill. “Yes?”

“Of course! I wasn’t expecting an adventure. Do I have to walk far?”

“Not at all. One of my friends is waiting for us and will come and pick us up.”

“They’ve been waiting all this time? Oliver, you should have invited them to come too.”

“I couldn’t, but I can’t explain why just yet.” He sent a text. “She won’t be long. She’s my housekeeper, manager, and dearest friend, Constance LaValle.”

“Wow. I can’t wait to meet her.”

Now d’Artagnan felt like a bastard. He very much doubted Sylvie would be so happy to meet Constance once they told her the truth.

*********************

Constance was there in five minutes, and Sylvie was settled in the front seat, with D’Artagnan in the back. After the introductions, Constance drove them outside the town to a pretty tree-lined road, and parked.

“What’s going on?” Sylvie asked, her voice sharp for the first time.

D’Artagnan belatedly realised she probably thought she was being kidnapped. “It’s okay. We just wanted a private place to talk because this is going to get loud. Get your phone out, keep it by you. You can call for help if you need it, but you won’t need it, I swear.”

“What’s going on, Oliver?” she repeated, her brows drawn together and all humour gone from her voice.

“I’m not Oliver de Fer. I’m his gardener, Charles D’Artagnan.”

She gaped. “His _gardener?_ What the hell are you playing at?”

“Sylvie,” Constance said quickly, “I really am the real Oliver de Fer’s housekeeper and manager. And close friend. Charles offered to help Oliver over meeting you, because...the real Oliver de Fer is badly disfigured. The photo on his books is Charles as well.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he lie to me? I don’t care if he’s disfigured. Why would he think I would?”

D’Artagnan took the iPad out of the bag he’d left in the backseat. “Four years ago, Oliver—his real name is Olivier d’Athos, but everyone calls him Athos—was happily married, a major in the army. Then this happened.” He handed over the tablet, with the report on the murder attempt, the injuries Athos suffered, the suicide of his brother and the imprisoning of his wife, to her. “Please?”

She took it, but he gave it about a fifty percent chance of her bolting, or at least calling the police. While she read, he reached over and took Constance's hand. It was icy cold.

“Oh God,” Sylvie whispered. “How badly was he hurt?”

“Broken back, which has led to lower spine degeneration,” Constance said, “crushed pelvis, nerve damage, third degree burns on the upper right side of his body, were the worst of it. He spent two years in and out of hospital, a dozen surgeries, rehabilitation and so on. He can’t walk more than a few steps before the pain is too much, so he’s in a wheelchair. His career was over, and so was his marriage. And he believed no woman would ever want to look at him again.”

Sylvie’s mouth opened in a silent ‘oh’. “Hence the fake photo.”

“His publishers pestered him for months for an author photo for the new book, so I thought of using a stand-in,” Constance explained. “We didn’t intend him to send it to you, but because you sent him yours, he felt he had to send you _something.”_

“He knew it was wrong,” d’Artagnan said quickly. “He didn’t want to lie to you, but he didn’t want to not reciprocate because he was afraid—terrified—you would be offended. You mean a great deal to him, Sylvie. More than is sensible, really.”

She covered her mouth. “And to me,” she said, so quietly that d’Artagnan could barely hear her. “But that doesn’t explain why...this.” She gestured in the mirror at d’Artagnan. “This pretence.”

“Athos is my dearest friend,” Constance said. “I can’t bear him suffering, though he suffers all the time, every day. He’s been in agony since your news that you were coming back to France. He was too terrified to meet, too terrified to reject you or lie to you and say he was away travelling or something.”

“So I came up with a plan that I would meet you and tell you he was gay, with a boyfriend. That’s what I told him I was going to do. And I was going to do that if you were even this much less,” he held up his thumb and forefinger about a millimetre apart, “of the decent person he believed you to be. But you’re not less in any way. If anything, I think you’re more amazing than he knows.”

“What happens now?”

“That’s up to you,” he said. “We can take you back to the train station right now. I can tell him you think he’s gay, and then it’ll be up to you if you want to tell him the truth. You can pretend you believe it and keep your relationship as it is now.”

“Or we can drive you to his estate and let you two meet. There’s a risk that he’ll faint or worse in shock. He suffers from severe anxiety and PTSD. He’s intensely shy, frightened of being hurt again, scared of being rejected in disgust, even by someone like Charles,” Constance said. “How he’d react if you did, doesn’t bear examining.”

“So what you’re saying that me meeting him could destroy him.”

“No,” d’Artagnan said. “Only you meeting him when you’re not sure, would do that.”

“Tell me what he looks like. It doesn’t matter to me, but I want to get a picture in my mind.”

D’Artagnan did his best to describe Athos, and Constance added more detail. “To me, he’s the dearest, sweetest, kindest man I have ever known or will ever know,” Constance said. “But you know what people are like. You will never walk down a street with him or go to a restaurant for a meal.  He has limited energy, and he’s in pain all the time. His right hand is a mess, so he dictates all his work. Any woman who shares his life, has to accept this is his reality and always will be. No magical cures, no plastic surgery to fix him. Athos is Athos. Broken, beautiful, beloved.”

D’Artagnan heard Sylvie sniff, and saw her head bow, Constance looked back at him. “She’s crying,” she mouthed.

Bugger. What did that mean?

After a couple of minutes, Sylvie blew her nose. “Take me to him.” Her voice was clogged with tears. “I need to be with him. I love him, Constance. I want to know all he is, everything that he’s been through.”

D’Artagnan’s breath caught. “Constance?”

For an answer, she started the engine. “Next stop, La Fère.”

*********************

“Athos?”

He stirred. He’d been dozing lightly for some time. How long, he wasn’t sure. “‘Stance?”

“Yes, it’s me, darling. How are you?” She came closer. She, like all his friends, knew not to touch him to wake him. Same was true for the lads of course.

“Better.” He rolled over. “How did it go?”

“Very well. D’Artagnan wants to tell you all about it himself. Do you want to get up? It’s nearly two.”

“Oh God. Help me, please?”

She eased him to a sitting position, and he had to give it a minute or two before the pain dropped off before he could slide into his wheelchair. “I’ll just wash and change.”

“Need a hand?”

“No, but perhaps you could wait for me. Do you want to eat up here or down there?”

“Up here, I think.”

His movements were slow and awkward, and his brain felt slow. But the crushing fear and anxiety was down to a manageable level. It was over. Now all he had to do was stay friends with Sylvie as he had done, and drop the occasional reference to his imaginary boyfriend. He only hoped she wouldn’t ask to meet him.

Constance fussed around him when he came out of the bathroom. “You need to get this cut, you know,” she said, combing his hair.

“I was hoping to take up knitting once it got long enough.”

“Don’t joke, it’s nearly that long now.”

“Good. Another career to take up.”

“You’re silly.”

“I am. I’m hungry too.”

“Not surprised. I’ll go get your tray. Now don’t work yourself up again.”

“I’m fine.”

She went away and Athos checked his email. Nothing from Sylvie, but perhaps she wasn’t home yet. No angry messages anyway, which was good. Constance wouldn’t be this calm if Sylvie was angry, surely.

She was back quickly, bringing a tray. “D’Artagnan is bringing the other one,” she said, setting his food on the table. She fussed again, making sure his cutlery was just so.

Athos caught her wrist. “My dear, you don’t need to dance attendance.”

“Sorry. Oh, here he is.” She went to the lift and took a tray from d’Artagnan and returned. Distracted, Athos missed that d’Artagnan wasn’t alone.

He jerked. “No. Constance, no...you can’t....” He needed to run, to hide. “No, please.”

“Athos, it’s all right.”

That was Sylvie, his beautiful Sylvie, easing her way towards him on crutches, her eyes bright, her smile wide. “Sylvie...don’t look at me.”

“I want to look at you, my darling, beloved Athos. And you can look at me.”

“Athos, we’re going to let you two talk, okay?” d’Artagnan said. “We’ll be downstairs.”

And with that, he and Constance fled. How could they do this to him?

“Don’t be angry, darling.”

He looked back at this woman, this miracle, this impossible.... “How can this be?”

“You have some very loyal, very loving friends who looked at the Gordian knot and said, ‘Sod this for a game of soldiers’. Do you mind if I sit? My leg is killing me,”

“Yes, please do. Sylvie...aren’t you disgusted?”

“By what?”

He gestured at his face. “This...this mess.”

She eased down onto the chair near him, and reached for his hand. His _right_ hand. “I don’t see any mess. I see a man whom I’ve loved for a long time, who I’ve longed to meet, who is funny and kind and clever and generous.”

“Did you know? How did...? What happened?”

“D’Artagnan and Constance happened. I believe d’Artagnan was interviewing me to see if I was worthy of you.”

“What?”

She smiled. “They don’t just let anyone in here, do they? I had to pass inspection.”

He put his good hand over hers. “I’m so sorry I lied, my darling. I was sure you would...be repulsed.”

“Damn, I can’t reach you. Come over here, will you?”

With a bit of clumsy manoeuvring, Athos wheeled himself closer. She put her hand around the back of his head, and kissed the top of it, then his forehead. She looked into his eyes, asking permission. He could only nod. She kissed him on the lips, and he moaned a little in relief and amazement. “Not repulsive at all. I’m sorry you were hurt though. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“Darling...I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I am here,” she said against his cheek. “And I’ll stay as long as you let me. I mean, I have to leave today and collect my stuff, but I will remain in spirit as long as you’ll have me.”

“Please stay. But Sylvie, I am no man for you. I’m broken and battered, I’m frightened of the whole world. You’re perfect and brave and meant for much more.”

“Am I?” She pulled back to look into his eyes. “My father always told me to fight for the weak, support the fallen, tend to the broken, and love those who cannot love themselves. He never told me I wasn’t allowed to follow my heart and love a good man, a clever man, a kind man. And I do, Athos. I really do.” She cupped his cheek. “Let me at least learn who you are.”

“All I am is yours, my darling girl. Clipped and damaged coin though I may be, I am yours.”

“Then that’s all I want. It’s everything I want.”

*********************

“It’s been two hours, d’Artagnan. Do you think they’re all right?”

“If they weren’t, they wouldn’t take this long to find out,” d’Artagnan said, rubbing Constance's shoulder. They'd had lunch and were now hunched over coffee, waiting for Athos to call them. Constance had been in a state the whole time. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Yes, but I hate lying to him. He trusts me so much, and I used that against him.”

“For a good cause. The best cause.”

“I know.”

Her phone chirped. “Right, that’s us.” She leapt up from the table and rushed to the elevator, d’Artagnan hard on her heels.

When they emerged into Athos’s domain, they found Athos and Sylvie still sitting at the table, side by side. Athos frowned at them. “There you are. What am I supposed to do with you now?”

“Do?” Constance whispered.

“Yes, do. You lied to me, Constance. You both did. You abducted Sylvie, dragged her here, and you lied to me. What should I do about that?”

“Athos, we were—”

Athos held up a hand to silence d’Artagnan. “No excuses. I want to know what you think I should do to the pair of you.”

“Fire us, I suppose,” Constance said. Her eyes were huge and sad.

Athos turned to Sylvie. “What do you think?”

She was solemn. “I don’t think that’s enough, really. I mean, this is a big thing. I think you should send them away, definitely. But do more than that.”

“Yes, agreed.”

D’Artagnan exploded. “Athos, we were trying to help!”

“I said no excuses, Charles. Sylvie wants you gone, and so do I.”

“Athos, no.” Constance wrung her hands, and tears filled her eyes.

“No, I’m implacable on that point, Constance. Sylvie is going to live here for a bit, and you two are going…on a minimum of a month’s all expenses paid holiday anywhere you like. Oh, and you both get huge payrises. And when you marry, I’m buying you a house.”

Constance covered her mouth. Athos and Sylvie grinned like fools, and d’Artagnan wrapped his arms around his love. “You bastard,” he said, grinning at his boss.

“None of that, please. You’re before the woman I love.”

“And who loves him,” Sylvie said, leaning against Athos and looking at him with smiling eyes.

Constance ran over and hugged her, then Athos. “You had me going, you wretch.”

“I did, didn’t I? I had to pay you back somehow for the shock you gave me. I thought I was going to die, honestly.”

“Sorry,” she said, kissing his head. “We knew it was a risk, but...it had to be done.”

“Yes, it did,” Sylvie said. “And I forgive you for frightening the life out of me. I though you were going to axe-murder me or worse.”

“Never!”

D’Artagnan came over and offered his hand to Sylvie, but she pulled him in for a hug. “Thank you, Charles. Thank you both. It was very brave of you.”

“Athos, we didn’t want to lie to you about it, but...we weren’t sure how she would feel. We had to know she was right for you.”

“So, I suppose that means Aramis is forgiven after all,” Athos said, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

D’Artagnan grinned back at him. “I suppose it does.”

“Sylvie, if you want to stay this evening,” Constance said, “I took the liberty while we were setting this up of buying some things for you that should fit, and I can launder anything that you need. There’s a guest bedroom set up on the floor below with an accessible bathroom, and it’s right next to the elevator.”

“Darling, do you have the medication and everything else you need, or shall I have them couriered here?” Athos asked, taking her hand.

“No, I have everything. Thank you, Constance. I’d like to stay tonight.”

“And tomorrow we’ll collect your gear from your friend’s house and move you in,” Athos said. “Or not. I want you to do whatever you want.”

“I want to be with you.”

“Of course you do,” Constance said fondly. “But Athos, if d’Artagnan and I go away, who will look after you? Sylvie’s on crutches.”

“Sylvie’s not going to look after me. I made that quite clear. I’ll hire a nurse if we need one, and I’d like you to find a dependable temporary housekeeper if you can.”

“No need,” Constance said. “Maude is happy to step up, although we’ll need someone to help with cooking. I have the usual agency for that.”

“Then that’s perfect, and give Maude an appropriate pay rise for that. And the only things you two need to do is decide where you’d like to go, and if it’s going to be a honeymoon or not.”

“Athos!” She covered her mouth. “You’re matchmaking again.”

“Payback,” he said calming, putting his arm around Sylvie. “And I mean it about the house.”

“No.”

“No?” Athos looked at d’Artagnan. “Why no?”

“Because we want to live here, as long as you’ll have us. Neither of us want to leave you or the estate. Though we will if you insist.”

“I most certainly do not. In fact I insist you stay for as long as you can stand it. I’ll tie it all up in a nice legal bow too. We can deal with the niceties later. But for the moment, we would like to be alone again, and then you can join us for supper if you’d like.”

“We like,” Constance said. “Very much we like.”

“Then I’ll see you later.”

She and d'Artagnan collected the trays and went back to the elevator. As it descended, d’Artagnan murmured, “Honeymoon?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.”

*********************

Athos could have been surprised at how easily Sylvie fitted into his life and the household, but wasn’t. It wasn’t anything he could take credit for. Constance and Maude worked tirelessly to make it work and to make Sylvie comfortable, and d’Artagnan was their devoted assistant, as well as Sylvie’s. All Athos had to do was spend time with his beloved, and write when inspiration struck.

Constance and d’Artagnan were quietly married at the end of February, but would not to go on their honeymoon—a twenty-five night cruise around Iceland and Scandinavia—until June. By then Sylvie would have started her new job in Paris, commuting back and forth every day. Her cast was removed at the end of March, and she would need physical therapy for another couple of months after that.

Until the cast came off, they could only cuddle and kiss. And talk and plot and laugh and delight in being mere centimetres apart instead of being separated by the Atlantic ocean. Every day, Athos learned more about Sylvie, and the more he learned, the more he adored her. She said she felt the same, which was a miracle almost beyond Athos’s comprehension.

The day her cast came off, she returned from the hospital appointment still leaning on a cane, and came up to show him her newly freed limb. The amount of scarring left Athos aghast. He’d known it was a bad break but, still.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“A bit. It’s still weak. Could be worse.”

“Yes.”

She limped over to him, and put her arms around him. “Would you like me to sleep with you tonight?”

His breath caught. “Darling...of course...but I don’t think I’ll be able to be the lover you need.”

“The lover I need is right here.” She kissed the top of his head. “We don’t have to have sex, but if you can bear it, I’ll like to lie next to you. Do you think I can?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t shared a bed since the crash.”

“Then we’ll try. And if you can’t bear it, we’ll still be together. I could move a bed in here or something. Only if you want.”

“I do. How could I not. You’re beautiful.”

“So are you, Athos.” He huffed in derision. “No, you are. You only see the scars. I see the man behind them.”

That night they ate alone in his rooms, then she excused herself to go downstairs and change. He took the opportunity to shower and change into his nicest pyjamas. Once he’d slept next to Anne, but he could never do that now. Not only did he not want to shock anyone who might come into the room, but there was always the risk he could need help and Constance did not need to have to dress him on top of everything else.

He got into bed, sitting up against the pillows. He was certain now he would not be able to get and keep an erection—the nerve damage was just too extensive. At least he’d been spared the indignity of catheters and the rest of it.

The elevator pinged, and he put his hand over his chest as it tightened up with anxiety and anticipation. Sylvie emerged wearing a simple dressing gown and carrying a small toiletries bag. She walked over to the other side of the bed, put the bag down on the bedside table, untied the dressing gown belt and let it slip from her shoulders.

Athos couldn’t breathe. All she wore underneath was a plain silk nightgown, lustrous white against her tawny skin. “Shall I join you?”

He nodded, throat too tight to speak. She climbed onto the bed and knelt on it, the nightdress riding up and giving him a flash of dark pubic hair. “Like what you see?”

“You are…a vision of pure beauty. A goddess.”

“Not really.” She drew the nightgown off over her head, and laid it aside. Now she was open to his gaze, her small but perfect breasts, her sweet dark mound, the gentle womanly swell of her hips and belly. Her unbound hair framed her face and her long, slender neck.

“No, you are. The goddess of light, my goddess of all good things. Bounty, love, beauty.”

“Then you are my god of wisdom, kindness, and generosity. Of poetry and passion and all manner of wondrous visions. Let me see you, darling Athos.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t—”

She leaned over to put her finger on his lips. “I do.” She slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, but didn’t open it, leaving that for him. “Please?”

Reluctantly he pulled the shirt open, and allowed her to pull it down his shoulders. She showed no sign of disgust or pity as the extent of the scars on his right side was revealed. “Why are you ashamed of this, my love? Should I be ashamed of the scars on my leg?”

“Because they’re ugly…and….”

She put her palm over his right shoulder. “Because the ones who did this, hurt you in more ways than in the fire.” He nodded. “If you’d suffered this in battle, you wouldn’t be ashamed. You weren’t the one in the wrong then, any more than you would have been as a soldier. All this is, is the mark of failure. Their failure.”

“They ruined my life, Sylvie. Took my health and my career from me, my ability to make love to you or any other woman.”

“They took a lot, but they could not defeat you, or destroy you. And you make love to me every day with your eyes and your lips and your touch.”

He frowned at her. “You know what I mean, darling.”

“You mean orgasms. I’m pretty sure you don’t need an erection to give me one of those, Athos.”

Her naughty grin made her smile. “So long as you’re the one doing the gymnastics, I’m happy to oblige.”

She bent and kissed him. “But when we’re both tired, or less than limber, there’s always…” She knelt up and reached for the toiletries bag. She opened it and tipped out a small but quite creative array of sex toys. Athos’s eyebrows rose. “When God doesn’t provide, the goddess makes other arrangements.”

“Any of these feel good to me?”

She gave him an evil grin. “You’d be surprised, darling. And I look forward to surprising you.”

*********************

Constance and d’Artagnan could have spent a few nights in London after the cruise, but Constance wanted to get back. They had had a blissful three and a half weeks, making love, watching stunning scenery, and enjoying good food and occasionally decent entertainment. Their English skills had also improved quite a bit.

But Constance wanted to see how Athos and Sylvie were getting on, and d’Artagnan admitted he was more than a little curious, especially as Athos had not sent a single email or message, just as he had promised when they left. Aramis, Porthos and Treville were covering the house in shifts, with Porthos and Elodie supposed to still be in residence, which they presumably were.

Porthos and Elodie picked them up from the airport in a vehicle neither of them had seen before. It was roomy and wheelchair accessible. “What’s he done now?” d’Artagnan said after they had been kissed and hugged and welcomed back most enthusiastically.

Elodie answered. “Said he wanted a car he and Sylvie could take out together.”

“My God,” Constance said. “What’s she done to him?”

“I dunno,” Porthos said with a huge grin. “But I reckon if she could bottle it, she could make a fortune.”

“Getting on then, are they?” d’Artagnan asked.

“You know what you two were like after your wedding?”

“Yeah?”

“Double it.”

“Wow,” d’Artagnan said, grinning at his wife. “Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?”

“This is a one-off,” she said quellingly. “Don’t think you can get away with this twice.”

“No need. Right, Porthos, back home?”

All was serenity and order when they got back just after two. The house was clean and tidy, the kitchen orderly, with a sensible meal plan pasted to the fridge. Someone had even cut the grass to his approved plan and standard. “We need to go away more often,” Constance said.

“Yes, you should,” Elodie said. “If you want a healthy marriage, you need time together, on your own.”

“If I want a healthy boss, let alone a healthy friend, I need to make sure he can cope when I go.”

“Oh, he can cope,” Porthos said. “He told me to send you on up as soon as you got back, so...off you go.”

They only stopped to change, since they had been in taxis and planes and airport lounges all day, then they rode the elevator up to the third storey, hand in hand. Sylvie was sitting on the sofa with Athos, and rose to greet them. “Welcome back. Was it fun?”

“It was wonderful. Thank both of you very much,” Constance said, taking Sylvie’s hands and kissing her cheeks. D’Artagnan did the same while Constance went to Athos to kiss his cheek and hug him.

“Pull up the armchairs. We want to hear all about it,” Athos said. He looked...serene. That was the only word for it. At peace. Happy. In love and loved.

“We took a few photos,” Constance confessed.

“Five thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three, to be precise,” d’Artagnan corrected.

“My God,” Sylvie said, laughing. “The scenery was that good?”

“The scenery was incredible. The ship was amazing. Constance is beautiful and I adore her.”

Athos smirked. “The latter is not news, but I’m glad to hear it.”

Constance and d’Artagnan did not make their friends sit through thousands of photos. They had made a small selection of thirty of the very best, and the four of them spent the next two hours talking about the cruise, and what Athos and Sylvie had been up to. Sylvie was enjoying her new job, and Athos’s writing was coming along great guns. Astonishingly, after the new car had been delivered, Athos and Sylvie had gone out with Porthos and Elodie for a drive around the area, and enjoyed a picnic by the Bordet river.

Constance listened to Sylvie tell them about this with her mouth open in amazement, and when Sylvie was done, Constance turned to Athos, “You...went out. In public.”

“Not that much in public,” Athos murmured, smiling happily at his love.

“Sylvie, you are a miracle worker and I adore you.”

Sylvie blushed. “Thank you, but it was his idea. Elodie wanted a tour and Athos offered.”

“Just like that,” d’Artagnan said, as shocked as his wife.

“Just like that,” Sylvie said. “And we’re going out tomorrow morning with Porthos and Elodie again.”

“Oh? Where to?” Constance asked.

“Here and there. Mainly there,” Athos said, mischief in his eyes.

“I’m lost for words.”

“Now that’s a first,” d’Artagnan said, and expertly dodged her elbow. He’d had a lot of practice. “I’m so happy for you both.”

“So are we,” Athos said. “Now, I’m sure you want to unpack, do laundry or whatever, and have a chance to talk to Porthos and Elodie. We’ll join you downstairs for supper at seven.”

“Of course. So...we’ll see you later,” Constance said.

D’Artagnan took her hand and led her out. Once safe in the elevator, Constance turned to him. “Do we look like that?”

“We’re worse.”

“But...he went _out_. Out of the house!”

“I know. It’s wonderful.”

“Yes, but...Charles, do you have idea?”

He kissed her on the head. “I do. It’s still wonderful. I really am so happy for them.”

*********************

The two of them were not on duty for the next three days, so they slept in late, knowing Athos was in the best hands, and competent people were handling the rest of it. In fact, they only woke when someone thumped hard on their door. Constance jumped up, eyes wide with worry, but slumped when she heard the voice. “Wakey wakey, lovebirds. Come and join me for breakfast.”

“Aramis?” d’Artagnan muttered. “What the fuck is he doing here?’

“Language, and I don’t fucking know.” D’Artagnan poked her in the hip. “Aramis, go away!”

“No, can’t do that, sorry. If you don’t get up in ten minutes, I will come in and fetch you.”

“Jesus.” D’Artagnan threw the bedclothes aside. “All right. Go away, we’ll get up. If you do come in here, I’ll punch you in the nose.”

“You can certainly try,” Aramis said, his voice floating away. D’Artagnan could just imagine the smug look on the man’s face.

Still yawning, since they had sat up very late talking to Porthos and Elodie after Athos and Sylvie retired, they struggled into their clothes and staggered into the kitchen. Jean Treville was there too. “What are you doing here, Jean? Not that it’s not lovely to see you,” Constance said.

“Ah, we just wanted to catch the two of you before we go back on deployment. Athos suggest we come down for the next couple of days.”

Aramis clapped his hands, which earned him a dirty look from both Constance and d’Artagnan. “And to that end, we’re going out too, since Porthos and Elodie have scampered away. So eat quickly, go change into some nice clothes—”

“What’s wrong with our clothes?” d’Artagnan demanded, as he accepted a cup of coffee from Constance.

“Not nearly posh enough for where we’re taking you,” Aramis said.

“Jean, can you not...kill him or something?” Constance said, before burying her face in her coffee cup.

“Gratifying as that might be—and welcome home, by the way—” Constance waved without lifting her nose from her caffeine fix, “we do have a very nice surprise outing planned, courtesy of our gracious host and hostess. So you really do need to change into smart clothes.”

“Athos planned this?” Constance asked.

“Both of them. It’s like watching him come alive again. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Me either,” she said. “It’s wonderful. The best gift I can imagine.”

“Yes,” Aramis said, seriously. “But you’ve got five minutes to eat, fifteen minutes to shower and change and put clean underwear on—”

“Oy,” d’Artagnan said. Treville rolled his eyes at his irritating comrade in arms.

“And present yourself at the garage, starting...now.”

D’Artagnan marked the time because he was in no doubt that Treville was serious, even if Aramis was not. “This better not be some nasty prank, guys. We’re still in the afterglow here.”

“I swear on my mother’s life, this will be a lovely and entirely enjoyable experience,” Aramis said, hand on heart, with a little bow.

D’Artagnan looked at Treville, who nodded. “So do I.”

“Good enough for me. I’ll grab the shower while you have your coffee love. Is the suit I got married in ‘nice’ enough for you, Aramis?”

“Just about,” Aramis said, smirking. “Of course, dear Constance could dress in a garbage bag and still be presentable.”

“You, be quiet,” Constance said, pointing at him, before turning to d’Artagnan. “You, go shower.”

That tone was not to be teased or argued with, so d’Artagnan hurried off to obey. He was putting his shirt on when Constance came in to their room. “I don’t know what those clowns are up to but there isn’t enough coffee in the world for this nonsense.”

D’Artagnan had an inkling as to what the two friends were up to, and understood why they were being cagey. “Never mind, love. Put on your nicest dress and we’ll show ‘em some class.”

“My very best dress, Charles?”

“Best day dress. Unless you want to wear that slinky blue outfit, because you know what does for me.”

She tapped him on the nose. “We don’t have time right now, but I can arrange a private show later, if you like.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Shower, love.”

“Yes, _monsieur_.”

They were actually a couple of minutes early but Treville and Aramis were waiting by the car when they arrived. The two men were in nice suits. “It looks like we’re going to a funeral,” Constance muttered.

“Not in that delicious dress,” Aramis said, taking her hand and making her show him properly. “You look more than usually ravishing.”

D’Artagnan agreed. “Hands off, d’Herblay. She’s mine.”

“And Charles is mine,” she said, though she gave the flowered pastel dress with its full skirt a pretty little swish as she spoke.

“Let’s go,” Treville said. He took Constance’s hand and insisted she rode shotgun, with d’Artagnan and Aramis stuck in the back.

They drove a mere fifteen minutes, straight to Pinon’s town hall. The new white car Athos had bought, was already parked. “Come on, we’ll be late,” Aramis said, chasing them out of the car as soon as Treville parked up. They weren’t given time to speculate on what the hell was going in before he shooed them into the town hall, where Porthos and Elodie, dressed as nicely as Constance and d’Artagnan were waiting for them.

As was Athos, in the smartest suit d’Artagnan had ever seen, and Sylvie in a little cream dress, flowers in her hair, and a single white rose in her hand.

“Oh,” Constance said, realising at last. D’Artagnan had guessed right. He came forward, shook Athos’s hand, and kissed Sylvie’s cheek.

“Congratulations, but why all the spy novel stuff, boss?”

“Why waste a perfectly good opportunity to surprise you?” Athos said. “We’re not going to have a second wedding party, so you lot will just have to do what you can with this. Speaking of which....”

The clerk came out and called Athos and Sylvie by name. Athos stood, gripping Sylvie’s arm. D’Artagnan took Athos’s other arm, and helped him walk carefully and slowly into the registry office, while Constance brought the wheelchair. They made their vows in front of the mayor, and exchanged rings, and only after Athos had officially kissed his new bride, did he have to sit down in the wheelchair again.

Aramis scattered rice over the two of them, and so did Elodie, much to d’Artagnan’s surprise. “I can’t help it. I’m a romantic,” she whispered. Porthos grinned down at her, Treville wiped his eyes with a discreet motion.

Porthos and Aramis had come armed with cameras so the newlyweds were captured in every possible angle and with every possible combination of their friends. A passing clerk happily took a photo of the entire group for them. D’Artagnan was amazed at how straight and tall Athos sat, making no move to hide his scars behind a hand or his hair. Sylvie was simply a miracle worker, that was all there was to it.

“And now that’s done, my beloved,” Athos said, still holding Sylvie’s hand like he thought she would fly away if he let go, “shall we take them to our wedding breakfast?”

“You’re going to eat...in public?” Constance asked.

“How else will I show off my darling girl?” he answered.

“We found a lovely restaurant in Soissons, and they’re going to screen off our table so we can have privacy,” Sylvie said.

“I think you’ve broken Constance,” Porthos said.

“Athos....” She flung her arms around him and held him tight. D’Artagnan came up to put his hand on her shoulder, because he could tell she was crying.

“I’m all right, darling,” he heard Athos murmur. “All this, I owe to you. You got me here. You and Charles.”

Sylvie took d’Artagnan’s hand. “We both owe you.”

“It was our pleasure. It will be our pleasure to remain your friends as long as you want us.”

“To the end of your days,” Athos said, looking at d’Artagnan past Constance’s head. “And during whatever may come.”

Aramis came up and clapped d’Artagnan on the shoulder. “I knew you were a good choice, the minute I met you.”

Constance straightened up and gave Aramis an evil look. “You be quiet.”

Athos barked out a laugh, and Porthos's face split in a grin. D’Artagnan shook his head at them all.  Aramis’s interrogations were more than worth all the joy they shared in today.

Porthos put one hand on Treville’s shoulder, and the other on Elodie’s. “Time to get this circus on the road, eh, boss?”

“Only if you take Aramis with you in your car. I’ve done my babysitting stint for this week.”

“Oy!”

**Author's Note:**

> "Our young André Le Nôtre" - Louis XIV's principal gardener, who designed the park at Versailles.
> 
> "Monsieur Manquant de Manières" - Monsieur no Manners :)
> 
> The title is from the English translation of Rostand's play (the original line is 
> 
> " _Je vous dois d'avoir eu, tout au moins, une amie._  
>  _Grâce à vous une robe a passé dans ma vie._ "
> 
> (Literally: "I owe you to have had, at least, a friend.  
> Thanks to you a dress has passed in my life.")
> 
> (In [A S Kline's translation:](http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/French/Cyranoact5.htm)
> 
> "But through you one love, at least, has been my own.  
> Through my life, by your grace, passed one silken gown.")
> 
> All comments gratefully received, kudos craved, and please let me know if I've made any mistakes :)


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